The Empire of the Dead (The Godsblood Trilogy Book 1)

by Phil Tucker

  Exhaustion fell upon him like a collapsing wall.

  A group of men were confronting Yesu, their voices raised. Acharsis walked over to them.

  “Please, listen to me,” Yesu was saying in a shrill voice. “I understand your horror, because it is my own! But I cannot and will not leave the empress’s wagons undefended with marauders about! I cannot spare my guards to chase after them!”

  The men protested, but Acharsis ignored their words in favor of studying the leech. The man seemed badly shaken up; he was smiling pathetically as he held his hands up as if in supplication. Of course he wouldn’t send his guards out onto the steppe at night in pursuit of the raiders. Their best hope would be to provoke an ambush.

  Dawn wasn’t far off. Numb, hands shaking, Acharsis walked over to the retaining wall where he and Elu had spoken only hours ago and sat heavily. Guilt swamped over him. He’d brought this calamity down upon Eruk.

  He remembered how his demon had jerked and leered and rattled its chains. Its message now was clear.

  Voices were raised in lament, women keening for their dead and lost ones. Below, the dead were marching slowly up the road to form a cordon five deep, sickles in hand, their apsus crying out their commands in a furious but impotent passion.

  Acharsis closed his eyes. He wanted to blot out the sound of the wailing, but he knew that if he did, he would hear something far worse: Elu’s cries for help.

  The people of Eruk were gathering beside their sprawling home as dawn broke over the Aloros mountains. There was an air of stupefaction lying over them all, a numbness and shock that had left them blinking and dazed. The newly dead had been laid out in a row on the ground, their forms covered with blankets, each of them encircled by a thin line of salt and herbs.

  The living stood staring at their dead, brows furrowed, eyes rimmed red.

  Seven corpses.

  Acharsis stood to one side. He wasn’t part of this settlement. He was a stranger to their community and had no place in their suffering and grief. And yet, he felt a simmering rage and grief all his own and could not tear his gaze away from Annara. He’d expected her to be broken by her losses, but instead, she was standing tall at the front of the group, chin raised, eyes glassy, lips a thin slit. Her expression was bleak, and the bones of her face were prominent, but she showed no sign of breaking down.

  A haggard Yesu was standing before them with his brow and left arm heavily bandaged. He watched as the two village apsus brought a calf toward him.

  The village altar was unimpressive: a broad block of rough stone with a planed surface that rose to little over knee height. Its side still showed the pale marks where ancient carvings had been chiseled off following the Purgings. No new dedications had replaced them.

  The calf was placed on the altar and held down by the two men. Yesu raised his hands and began a prayer to Nekuul in their secret tongue. Being the son of Ekillos meant that Acharsis knew the gist of what he was saying: he was beseeching Nekuul to gather all the bad luck, all the impurities from the village, to inter these dark forces and spirits and demons within the body of the calf and allow him to bind them there.

  The villagers listened intently. Yesu’s ability to hammer in the precious iron spikes would reflect how efficacious the rite would prove to be.

  The leech raised his hammer high and then slammed the first piton deep into the calf’s left eye. The blow was true, and the calf bucked and writhed in the men’s grip, then shuddered and died.

  The villagers breathed a collective sigh of relief.

  Blood had spurted all over the pale altar. Yesu proceeded to hammer in a dozen more spikes, each in a vital location on the calf’s body. Acharsis couldn’t help but be impressed. Foolish though the man might appear, he seemed to know his business.

  When he was finished, Yesu handed his hammer to one of the apsus and turned to the crowd. It was only then that he hesitated, licking his lower lip, his gaze flicking from one face to another, and then drew himself up.

  “Nekuul has drawn favored our ritual, and Eruk is now cleansed. When we are finished here, your apsus will take this vessel of evil and bury it far, far from your homes. All but those who have suffered personal family losses have been cleansed. Those who have lost loved ones, I will attend to each of you in turn and conduct a personal shriving.”

  He faltered, licking his lips again. “What happened last night…” He shook his head. “Ghastly. Unfathomable. I can’t imagine your pain over the violence that was done to your village. I swear this, however, by my goddess Nekuul: I will bring word of this travesty directly to the empress. She will hear of this outrage, and I know she will respond swiftly to bring justice to those who attacked us last night.”

  Annara took a step forward. “How did the raiders get past our dead? We had twenty of them guarding the road.”

  Yesu blinked. “I don’t know. How would I know?”

  “You are a master of Nekuul. Surely, you must have some idea.”

  He shrugged uneasily. “Perhaps they had amongst their number a Nekuulite godsblood? A rogue apsu? It is most disturbing; you’re correct in that regard. Most disturbing, indeed. Empress Irella will be absolutely distraught.”

  Lies, thought Acharsis. Irella wouldn’t give a damn.

  Annara wasn’t finished. “And I’ve heard that the ladders had already been lowered when they attacked.”

  Yesu blinked. “They were? Why are you asking me? I was asleep in your home. I wasn’t there. I suppose it’s no difficult feat to climb to the roof and lower them, is it?”

  “And Hagash was killed. His throat was slit.”

  “Hagash?”

  Annara pointed at one of the corpses. “He was on sentry duty.”

  “I - so? What are you saying, woman?” Yesu seemed to swell up with outrage. “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “No,” said Annara. “I’m just trying to understand how a group of Athites was able to sweep up past all of our defenses to kill my husband and steal my son.”

  “But I, too, have suffered!” Yesu looked imploringly at the crowd. “My own death watch guards have paid the ultimate price, though of course they will now be honored by the empress herself. I took a blow to my own brow in the fight! My arm was cut! I feel your pain. I feel it most deeply, but whatever happened last night, as mysterious as it may be – I cannot explain it to you. Perhaps the nomads followed me here, hoping to catch my guards unaware as we enjoyed your hospitality? I don’t know. We must remain calm, remain vigilant, and wait for the empress’s justice.”

  The crowd murmured angrily. Acharsis watched them carefully. They were upset, but despite their anger, nobody was going to act rashly.

  Yesu seemed to reach the same conclusion, and his manner grew more brisk.

  “Now, I depart for Rekkidu, and from there, I shall proceed immediately to Uros. You see how seriously I take this turn of events. I will move quickly when I reach the capital, and there speak with the empress herself. Rest assured, she will bring those murderers to justice. I swear it!”

  That said, he nodded to the apsus. They moved forward and carefully broke each protective circle, allowing the leech’s guards to begin hauling the corpses into the wagons. The crowd watched, not speaking, until they were done.

  Yesu hesitated, then stepped aside to speak with those who had lost loved ones, whose very loss indicted them and required that they be cleansed.

  Acharsis waited by the wall, arms crossed, watching Annara. She was surrounded by a knot of people, all of them asking her questions, but she looked past them to where he was standing and raised a hand, excusing herself. She approached him, and as she did, he felt his heart begin to thud inside his chest.

  “Acharsis.” Her voice was cold.

  “Annara.” He pushed off the wall with his shoulder.

  “Come,” she said, and then walked past him toward the cliffs.

  He followed, ignoring the way people were watching them, and when she reached the highest bluff, he s
tepped up beside her. Below them, the barley fields extended almost as far as the eye could see, the crops silver in the dawn light.

  Annara was searching the steppe that stretched beyond them to the horizon. There was no sign of the raiders.

  “I’m going after them,” she said abruptly, turning to him.

  “After the Athites?”

  “Who else? They have Elu.”

  “They will have joined up with their tribe by now. We’re not talking about a dozen raiders. We’re talking of perhaps a hundred of them, maybe more. Mounted. They could be anywhere. They could disappear into the Golden Steppe.”

  Her expression didn’t flicker. “Regardless. I’m going after my son. Will you help me?”

  He rubbed at his face and felt his guilt lie heavy on his soul. He dug his fingers into his eyes and then dropped his hands with a sigh. “What of your people here? They’re already looking to you for guidance.”

  “There are others who can lead them. I’m leaving today. Will you come with me or not?”

  “Of course I will. But wait. We can’t just run out into the Golden Steppe. We have to think this through.” He propped his hands on his hips and looked out beyond the fields. “We’ll need mounts. We’ll need food. We’ll need weapons.” He frowned.

  “What is it?” asked Annara.

  “I’ve never heard of the tribes stealing men before. Women, yes, for obvious reasons. But young men?”

  “Yesu,” she said.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Come, Acharsis. He offered me a ridiculous amount of barley last night to buy him. Then the raiders slip past our dead guards, find the ladders already lowered and Hagash dead? Then they steal Elu and disappear. It has to have been him.”

  Acharsis remembered how Yesu had cringed and washed his hands. Remembered his whinging smile, his darting eyes. “Perhaps. For that to be true, he’d need to have had the raiders close at hand to receive a message so swiftly. He’d had to have sent a messenger, then commanded the dead to remain quiet; organized his guards to kill Hagash; and then been willing to sacrifice three of them as well as taking wounds himself. And all for Elu?”

  “Yes,” said Annara. “All for Elu.”

  Acharsis rose to his feet. “But why? Why risk so much for one boy?”

  Annara looked away. “He’s your son.”

  Acharsis felt a wave of desolation and sorrow wash through him. “I thought he might be.”

  “Which means he’s a godsblood. A sliver of Ekillos burns within his spirit.” She spoke slowly, forcing the words out. “Something must have awakened within Elu since Yesu’s last visit. The leech must have sensed it.”

  “All right. Say that Yesu sensed his… heritage. Why go to such lengths to have him stolen?”

  “I don’t know,” said Annara. “And I don’t care. I just want Elu back.”

  “There is no coming back,” said Acharsis, moving closer to her. “You know that, yes? If Yesu is indeed behind this, which I doubt, you cannot return to Eruk, even if we rescue our son.”

  She whirled toward him. “He is not your son. He is Kenu’s son.” Her eyes flashed, and her whole frame trembled. “You did not raise him. You don’t know him. You’ve never loved him. Just because you fathered him does not make you his father. Do you understand me, Acharsis?”

  He stepped back, his throat growing tight as he raised his hands. “I - yes. Of course.”

  She glared at him, then turned away. “But, yes.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “I know we won’t be coming back. And I don’t care.”

  Acharsis lowered his hands. “All right.” He stood a little straighter. “Of course I’ll help you. But if we’re going to do this, we have to be smart about it. We have to do everything we can to succeed.”

  Annara nodded warily.

  “Which means we’re not just going to track them into the Golden Steppe on foot. First, we’re going to get help.”

  “Help?” She stared at him, confused, then her eyes widened. “Do you think he would -?”

  “I don’t know. To be honest? I doubt it. Like I said, he’s more likely to take my head off with his damned Sky Hammer before I even get a word in. But we need him. If he agrees to help us, then we might have a chance.” Acharsis rubbed his thumb over his chin. “The trick will be getting him to listen.”

  “I’ll speak with him,” Annara said. “I’ll convince him.”

  He grimaced. “Perhaps you should let me apologize first. If we can… clear away that little matter, then he might be willing to listen.”

  Annara hesitated, suddenly tentative. “Do you think he’ll still have...?”

  “His powers?” An old weariness settled over Acharsis’ shoulders. “No. Alok has been dead for almost two decades. If Jarek’s alive, he’ll be a shadow of his former self. Just like me, really. But even that shadow might tip the odds in our favor. We’ll have to find out.”

  “All right. I’ll gather my belongings. How long will it take to reach him?”

  Acharsis turned to consider the Aloros mountains: the lofty, snow-bound peaks; the rolling ridges and foothills at their base. “If we move fast? And if he’s still where I last saw him? Then perhaps two days.”

  Annara turned to regard the distant steppe, her disappointment obvious. “Two days.”

  Acharsis stepped in closer. “I know you want to rush after Elu. But it’s better to take our time and ensure our success than to run out blindly and be killed or kidnapped in turn. We’re talking an entire tribe here, Annara. If they wanted him dead, they’d have killed him last night.”

  She nodded, and her eyes glimmered with sudden tears, her stoicism cracking for only a moment before she stifled her pain. “Very well.”

  “Are you going to let Yesu cleanse you?”

  Annara laughed darkly. “No. I’d rather ride out polluted than let him touch me. Why? Do you mind?”

  “No,” said Acharsis. His grin was wry; again, his guilt jabbed a dagger through his heart. “I’ve no fear of a little impurity. Trust me on that score.”

  Annara nodded. “Let me say my goodbyes. Then we can go in search of this demigod who hates you so.”

  Chapter 3

  Jarek took a deep breath and leaned into the harness. The leather creaked, and the straps dug into his chest, cutting into his shoulders. For a moment, nothing happened. Inertia held the fallen tree in place, and the balls of his feet dug into the loam. Then he gritted his teeth and willed himself forward. Focused his gaze on a distant spot uphill and pulled.

  The tree shivered and slid forward a foot. Then another. Jarek took a step, his whole body straining, the sweat dripping off his brow. The tree whispered forward another foot, then a fourth. He shook, from the balled-up knots of his calves to the trembling might of his thighs, and his core burned as he thrust himself forward. Slowly, inexorably, the tree followed.

  He clambered up the hill, grunting and hissing between his clenched teeth. It was half a mile to his cabin – an impossible distance. But he relished the challenge. Deserved the pain. Onward he staggered, and with each step, he felt himself growing stronger, more sure of his footing. If he wasn’t moving faster, then at least he was moving with more assurance; like a fire stoked in a bed of dying coals, he felt his might awaken, a slumbering giant that brooked no denial.

  The last ten yards were the steepest. He fought his way up, his vision growing red from the sheer effort, his breath trapped in his chest, the veins along his arms and the back of his hands writhing like earthworms. A gasp tore itself free of his throat, became a roar, and he climbed up onto the small clearing in front of his cabin, then stalked forward as far as he could before the angle of the tree trunk was such that the harness was lifting him off the grass.

  Jarek unbuckled the straps and fell to all fours, lungs heaving, then rose to his feet, not waiting to catch his breath. He walked to where the edge of his clearing acted like a fulcrum for the tree, crouched under it, rose so that it was propped on his shoulder, inhal
ed deeply and rose to his feet.

  His vision narrowed to a point. He stepped forward, then again. His whole body felt turgid, the air trapped in his lungs wanting to burst forth. He strode across the clearing, then threw the tree aside with a cry, reeling away, almost falling. Chest rising and falling like a bellows, he turned to stare at his prize. Twenty yards of oak, branches shorn, enough wood to last him for most of the coming winter.

  “Surely it would have been easier to cut it up below and haul up the pieces?”

  Jarek turned and saw two strangers standing at the far side of the clearing, where the trail led down to the distant village of Shan: a handsome woman in her forties and a man of similar age with glittering black eyes.

  Jarek froze. That face. Lined as it was, he knew it. From where, though?

  The woman stepped forward. She moved with a natural grace, that of a fighter born or a dancer trained. “We’ve come to speak with you, Jarek, son of Alok. Will you listen to our plea?”

  He raised a hand, not taking his eyes off the man. “You.”

  The stranger spread his arms as if presenting himself, the hint of a mocking smile appearing on his lips. “Unfortunately. It’s been a long time, old friend.”

  “Acharsis?”

  Gone was the wild mane of unruly brown hair. Gone was the raucous vitality, the irrepressible energy. The man standing before him was reduced, shorn of his excesses, grown gaunt and weathered. But it was him. His black eyes held that same wicked gleam, the same depths of knowing and irrepressible animation.

  “By Alok,” he whispered. “You live.”

  Acharsis nodded ruefully. “I don’t claim to deserve it. Nor do I expect you to be pleased to see me. But I’ve come to apologize. An apology that’s some two decades overdue.”

  The sight of Acharsis brought back a maelstrom of memories, bursting open doors Jarek had thought forever locked and sealed away. Images of his past, his youth, and his own burning misdeeds came flooding into his mind, along with the cries of the impaled, the scent of burning cities, the laughter of his friends, and then their screams.