Sick Teen

by Jon Jacks

  ‘Poor Zeb! How can I help him?’

  It suddenly dawns on me that the position he’s in is even worse; when I’d died, there was nothing to stop the serpent men from taking him.

  ‘Wait,’ I say abruptly, ‘we were being attacked by serpent men–’

  ‘The servants of Yam,’ Pagrhat nods.

  I’m not sure who this Yam is, of course, but can only assume he must be some ally of Anat. My main concern at the moment is Zeb.

  ‘What did they do with him?’

  ‘They let him go, of course; you were the one they were after.’

  ‘But why kill me?’ I ask, puzzled. ‘Surely Anat needs me alive if she’s to take me over,’ I add, thinking of how Zeb’s death had prevented Baal from moving into his body.

  Pagrhat shakes her head.

  ‘Their venom made your sprit flee your body, for it’s deadly for spirit, not flesh; it will actually preserve your body, keeping it alive but in a coma approaching and not dissimilar to death.’

  ‘So Anat can still take over my body?

  ‘Yes, once the venom has cleared; but I might be able to help you, even as you help me. Our goals are not dissimilar, after all.’

  *

  Chapter 19

  ‘My father Dn'il is the only one said to make the Prince of Death wail; for he cures death,’ Pagrhat began to explain. ‘And yet in his way, he was the one who set all these dreadful events in motion when he decided to entertain Koshar the Craftsman, having heard of the fabulous bow he had created for my aunt.’

  ‘What’s so special about this bow, these arrows: why did Anat resort to killing to retrieve them?

  ‘Ah, that’s the irony of these arrows, I’m afraid: for they are TÌL, the Arrows of Life. And so when Kosher presented the bow to my father as thanks, it was these very arrows that gave him power over Death: for Death, of course, can fear no weapon but Life! My brother Aqahat claimed the bow and arrow as his, believing it to be more suitable for him and his eagles. Now Anat wanted this bow so badly, she offered Aqahat immortality; but he called her a liar, because old age and death are the lot of all men, as it should be. He then foolishly added, “What would a woman do with a bow?” So Anat sent birds of prey, who killed him and stole his bow.’

  I’m tempted to interrupt, to say I’d heard it was Yatpan, but felt it was best to let her continue.

  ‘Now according to Anat, she hadn’t intended for Aqahat to be killed, so she was angry with the attendant responsible; he fled–’

  ‘He? But I’d heard it was Yatpan?’

  ‘Hah, I see that to you he appears as a woman, yes?’

  I nodded.

  ‘This, indeed, is his great skill. Indeed, not realising he was the once responsible for my brother’s death, I originally sought him out to kill Anat for me. But not realising who I was – for I simply told him that it was Mot, Death himself, who sought Anat’s demise, having already killed his brother Baal – he boasted of how he had killed Aqhat, and how it had all been for nothing; for as he fled Anat with the bow and arrow, he dropped them into a river where they were lost.’

  ‘But…here they are!’ I pointed out unnecessarily, drawing her attention once again to the weapons strapped across my back.

  ‘Indeed; but who’s to trust either Yatpan or Anat’s version of events? Either way, as a result of all this, the land was plunged into seven years of severe drought, in which many died. Whereas I, when I discovered Yatpan’s role, wooed him in his tent; then killed him.’

  ‘Yet I’ve seen her – him!’

  ‘Anat restored his life when he informed her that Mot was seeking her death: and as even Anat fears Death, she went into hiding – and no one, not even Yatpan, knows where she hides!’

  ‘She was supposed to reappear through me. Why, if she’s in hiding?’

  ‘She and her followers, the Daughters of Anat, had simply been waiting for the most auspicious time to reappear; and yes, they also needed access to the earthly realm, if they were to successfully face down Death – as that, of course, is where he operates most efficaciously.’

  ‘But…isn’t that a good thing? I mean, if they can defeat Death?’

  ‘As my brother said, Death is the lot of men, and unchangeable; Anat seeks only to prevent her own miserable death. You still have a connection with her, I would think; and if you help me find her, I might well be able to help you conquer your own death!’

  *

 

  ‘But my body! If its taken to the mortuary, it will be dissected and…’

  ‘You body wasn’t left there,’ Pagrhat hurriedly reassures me. ‘Yam and his servants removed it to a place of safety, waiting for the venom to be washed from your body–’

  ‘So Anat’s free to take it over!’ I whisper, horrified.

  Pagrhat nods in agreement.

  ‘I would have thought that Anat would have brought all this to a halt once it was obvious Baal couldn’t be resurrected. Somehow, she must have got word to Yatpan that she wished to go ahead with it–’

  ‘The dream! My dream!

  ‘A dream?’

  Going by her expression, Pagrhat seems to be every bit as interested in my dream as Yatpan was.

  Perhaps this is the way the spirit world, or even the goddesses, communicate with those more fully aware of what’s really happening between our conflicting worlds.

  ‘When I mentioned to Yatpan that I’d dreamt of Anat – of myself – fighting a sea serpent, she suddenly seemed: well, really really happy!’

  ‘Ah yes, yes.’ Pagrhat nods again, but this time more thoughtfully. ‘Yes, that was a message to Yatpan that she intended to go ahead with everything.’

  ‘But why a serpent? Aren’t they helping her?’

  Pagrhat chuckles wickedly.

  ‘Serpents rarely retain their allegiance to one side only!’

  ‘Why use my dreams; couldn’t she just contact Yatpan through her dreams?’

  ‘That would be too much of a risk for her; revealing herself to Yatpan could be like revealing herself to Mot. This way, using you, Anat passed on a simple message that she was prepared to make another attempt on Mot’s life.’

  ‘She’s attempted all this before?’

  ‘Many times; but each time, Mot has thwarted her in some way. If he can find out who either Anat or Baal are intending to utilise, he simply arranges for an early death, before the bodies can be taken over…’

  ‘Zeb! That’s why…’

  Pagrhat nods again.

  ‘Mot missed you, thankfully. Even Yam’s attack upon you might work to our benefit; tell me, what else happened in this dream of yours? There might be something in it that leads us to Anat!’

  *

  ‘Ah, yes, it’s of an earlier time, when Yam himself, the Serpent of Chaos, ruled,’ Pagrhat explains after I’ve recounted as much as I can remember of my dream. ‘That’s why even Baal didn’t dare include a window in his heavenly Hall of Zafon; and it was only when he and Anat had usurped the sea and river god Yam that he felt confident enough to include a window, one through which he could order his brother Mot to stay within the confines of his own realm.’

  ‘Then the dream doesn’t help us?’

  ‘I think it might,’ Pagrhat replied hopefully. ‘At the very least, it gives us a good reason to visit the deserted halls.’

  ‘They’re deserted? Wouldn’t it be obvious that she might be there?’

  ‘Oh, she isn’t there, I’m sure of that: but if it appeared within your dream, then I’m also sure there must be some connection that could lead us to her.’

  ‘How do we get there? Isn’t it on top of a mountain?’

  Pagrhat chuckled.

  ‘It’s far far higher than that I’m afraid; the Halls of Zafon are the heavens themselves.’

  There was shivering of the air about her, a rapid trembling of her form, all of which I’d witnessed before when Yatpan had transformed into a hawk.

  But Pagrhat didn’t become a hawk.
r />   She became a huge vulture.

  *

  Chapter 20

  Even with me riding on her back, Pagrhat rose effortlessly through the heavens.

  Our surroundings now are like the Halls of Zafon as they appeared in my dream, the night sky a deep, rich blue, scattered with the flecks of gold of innumerable sparkling suns. The silver is the glimmering of other stars, the fire the golden flames of the sun itself.

  We enter the hall itself through the window, the one and only window in these vast halls.

  Pagrhat gracefully alights before a massive, glittering stone, smoothly transforming back into herself even as she lands. I simply find myself slipping slowly off her back and standing beside her.

  The hall is deserted. No one sits upon the throne.

  Noting my bewilderment at the emptiness of so grand a throne room – for it seems as if God himself has deserted us! – Pagrhat tenderly takes my hand.

  ‘Mot responded to his brother’s command with an invitation to a banquet; only for Baal to end up being the feast devoured by Mot. Ashtar, God of Irrigation, was given the rain god’s throne, but he abhors these great heights.’

  As she spoke, Pagaht stepped closer towards the empty throne, taking me with her,

  The throne rippled fluidly; no, as if alive!

  ‘The Throne is god’s Power and Grandeur, one of Two Truths,’ Pagrhat announced; but not so much to me as towards the throne itself, as if addressing it, flattering it. ‘The other is Arsh, god's Knowledge, the horizon of the First Manifestation of God.’

  The rippling became more excited, the throne dissolving until it transformed into what could have been an open portal looking out on to the heavens.

  ‘Ashtar,’ Pagrhat said calmly, speaking now as if she were addressing someone residing far off within that great stretch of space, ‘It’s Pagrhat; we have the TÌL, the Arrows of Life.’

  *

  This time, it was the heavens themselves that shivered, that rippled.

  It could have been some far off equivalent of the Milky Way, writhing as if that too were now alive. It appeared to be growing, expanding, but – I realised – it was actually snaking its way towards us across the dark sky.

  A blaze of light filled the cleft in the room that had been the throne; and abruptly, it was the sparkling throne once more, but his time with a man seated upon it.

  I suspect that he must have been a large man; and yet his feet didn’t reach the throne’s footstool. Neither did his head rest securely against the headrest, which was set too high for him.

  As soon as he saw me, his eyes opened wide in terror; he even shrank back a little in his chair, as if expecting me to throw myself at him.

  ‘What treachery is this, Pagrhat?’ he stormed, his horror increasing as his gaze fell upon the bow and quiver of arrows upon my back. ‘You’ve led me into one of Anat’s traps?’

  ‘Of course not, Ashtar!’ Pagrhat spat back dismissively, indicating me with a wave of her hand. ‘This is one of the girls she’s chosen to use; though the likeness is remarkable, I must admit!’

  ‘And yet she has the bow, the arrows!’ Ashtar exclaimed fearfully. ‘That’s not possible…unless…how did she…?

  ‘She offered them to me,’ Pagrhat replied calmly.

  ‘Then why…’

  ‘Why should this poor girl place her trust in me if I take everything she owns from her? We need her, Ashtar: I believe she can lead us to Anat.’

  ‘But the arrows; after all this time!’

  ‘And so after all this time, Ashtar, there is no rush to take possession of them, is there?’

  She glowers at Ashtar as if commanding him to relax, to trust her.

  He lazily slumps back on his throne.

  ‘Ah, yes, yes; of course!’ he says, adding with a scheming leer, ‘No, no; we don’t need them just yet, at least!’

  ‘The girl has already been granted a relatively minor connection with Anat; a dream.’

  ‘A dream?’

  He sits forward in his seat, taking an interest at last.

  ‘One recalling the time before Yam himself was…er, replaced.’

  On hearing this, Ashtar grimaces disappointedly. He shrugs, slumps back into his chair once more.

  ‘Then…of what use is such a dream to us?’

  ‘A dream of these halls,’ Pagrhat explained.

  ‘Really?’ Ashtar says, at last jumping down from his throne, making his way towards us, towards me.

  His eyes are firmly fixed upon me, snake-like in their intensity and probing.

  ‘A dream, that’s all: and yet, now I’m close – I believe I can smell her here!’

  He sniffs the air about me as if he were an animal.

  ‘The…er, the connection, I suppose,’ I say nervously.

  ‘I’m not so sure…’ he declares doubtfully, stepping back, his eyes never leaving me, still suspicious and a little scared.

  As part of the motion of stepping back, of raising his head a little but keeping his gaze on me, of arching his back, he begins to become leaner, to elongate; and in an instant, he’s transformed into a looming serpent, his fangs bared as his head hurtles down to strike at me.

  *

  Chapter 21

  I don’t even need to think how to react.

  It’s all perfectly instinctive, it seems.

  The bow’s suddenly in my hand, bizarrely already strung, all ready for action.

  An arrow is already out of the quiver, already notched.

  No; it’s already on its way, rushing toward the serpent’s open throat.

  The force and momentum of the serpent’s sticking head combines with the speed of the flying arrow.

  The arrow’s head cleaves through the serpent’s inner red flesh effortlessly.

  It cleaves through muscle.

  Through scales.

  The serpent crumples, almost split in two.

  ‘You killed him? With an Arrow of Life?’

  Pagrhat is aghast.

  ‘I didn’t mean to!’ I insist. ‘It was all just so instinctive; I don’t really know what happened!’

  Pagrhat isn’t listening; she’s drawing closer towards the still quivering body of the dead serpent.

  She callously digs amongst the dead creature’s steaming flesh, as if she’s noticed something odd there.

  She pulls out the arrow, now covered in a viscously thick blood.

  But she still continues digging away with her hand amongst the severed fresh, the split gullet, as if she’s spotted something of great interest there.

  She pulls out another arrow.

  She turns towards me, frowning in bewilderment as she holds up both arrows.

  As the glutinous blood runs down off their shafts, I can see little difference between them; they seem identical.

  ‘Two arrows?’ Pagrhat says with obvious disbelief. ‘How can there possibly be two arrows?’

  *

  Chapter 22

  ‘Maybe he swallowed one?’ I suggest.

  Pagrhat ignores me once again. She’s examining the two arrows, checking their size against each other, their flights.

  ‘They’re the same: they’re both Arrows of Life!’ she announces incredulously.

  ‘Is that…is that so odd?’ I hesitantly ask.

  She looks back towards me; no, she’s ignoring me again. It’s the quiver she’s looking at.

  ‘Eight arrows?’ she says, the incredulity still prominent in her voice. ‘Seven; there’s only supposed to be seven!

  She rushes towards me, spins me round so she can count the arrows remaining in my quiver.

  ‘There can’t be eight!’ she insists.

  She glowers in frustration, trying urgently to puzzle all this out.

  Suddenly, as if it had abruptly burnt her, she casts one of the arrows aside.

  The other she clutches onto all the tighter.

  ‘Of course!’

  Just as Ashtar had done only moments before, she warily steps ba
ck and away from me, her gaze never wavering from its hard focus upon the quiver.

  ‘Ashtar was right!’

  ‘Right? About what?’

  ‘Anat? Pagrhat whispers suspiciously. ‘I know you’re there!’

  *

  ‘Where?’ I ask Pagrhat uncertainly. ‘Where’s Anat?’

  Pagrhat chuckles nervously.

  ‘You did say, didn’t you, that you acted instinctively? ‘But that wasn’t you at all, I’m afraid.’

  Now I’m the one that’s getting nervous; is Pagrhat about to attack me, as Ashtar did?

  ‘No, no Pagrhat: you’ve got this wrong! She’s not here: she’s not inside me!’

  ‘Of course she’s not inside you!’ Pagrhat growls. ‘Yet she’s controlling you. You weren’t instinctively using the bow; the bow was instinctively using you!’

  ‘The bow using me?’ I laugh edgily. ‘You can’t be serious!’

  ‘It isn’t a bow; and those aren’t arrows!’

  She’s made her mind up; she’s stepping away from me swiftly now, casting the arrow she’s holding as far away as she can, the air already quivering about her as she affects her transformation.

  Within less than a split second, she’s a giant vulture once more; one screeching towards me, her claws open in preparation for riving me apart.

  *

  Chapter 23

  Once again, that instinct takes over.

  I drop to one knee, rolling over as part of the same easy, flowing motion.

  Pagrhat swoops over me, her claws close yet not anywhere near close enough to even scratch me.

  My roll fluidly becomes a complete turn around, a rising to my knees, a snatching of the bow up into a firing position; an arrow notched and aimed at the breast of Pagrhat as she herself turns to strike once more.

  I strain to hold the bowstring, to stop myself form releasing the arrow towards Pagrhat.

  Pagrhat also halts her attack. With a shiver of the air, she becomes a girl once more.

  The arrow is still aimed at her heart; I can’t turn it away from her no matter how hard I try.

  ‘I knew it had to be you!’ Pagrhat snorts triumphantly. ‘But then, you must know that can’t harm me!’