by Phil Tucker
Restless, Jarek rose to his feet and began to pace. Sisu’s court had seemed large enough when they’d first arrived, but now, as the clay brick fragments crunched underfoot and he ducked his head over and over again to avoid low-hanging beams, he felt constrained, trapped like a lion he’d once seen that had been held in a cage far too small for its bulk.
“Do you want me to send Babati for more food?” Sisu asked.
He had been trying to lounge casually on his throne the whole time, but his concern for Jarek’s wellbeing was starting to grate.
“There’s a vendor not far from here who sells delicious barley crepes filled with all manner of spices and vegetables, along with fried duck’s eggs and -”
“No, thank you.” Jarek fought to keep his tone civil. Several clay plates laden with half-eaten snacks were already sitting on a side table. He managed an expression that was barely more smile than grimace. “I’m fine.”
Ishi was sleeping in the corner, hands laced over her stomach, chin resting on her chest.
Sisu misunderstood Jarek’s glance. “I know. But Ishi can’t trail Kish everywhere. Even if she did, she wouldn’t be able to keep her out of trouble. We just have to trust the goddess that she won’t draw attention to herself.”
Jarek stopped pacing and crossed his arms. The air was damp and gritty, as if fine silt from the Leonis had pervaded the air. “She’s like your big sister, isn’t she?”
Sisu stared down at the arm of his throne and worked at something with his thumbnail. “She still thinks so.” He frowned, then looked back up. “Don’t get me wrong. After I first arrived, she saved my sorry hide several times. Suffice it to say I owe her a debt of gratitude. But she doesn’t realize that I’m no longer that skinny kid who smuggled himself out of Uros inside a wagon of carpets. I can now literally make the dead dance at my command, and still she treats me like I’m twelve.”
Sisu chewed his lower lip and sighed. “By Nekuul, no wonder she does it if I sit around whining like a child. My apologies. It’s just - it’s very aggravating.”
“I can imagine,” said Jarek. He wanted to continue pacing but forced himself to stand still. “Why did you have to smuggle yourself out of Uros? Why did you wish to leave?”
“Why?” Sisu snorted. “You wouldn’t understand.” Then he paused. “Or perhaps you would, being Alok’s son and all that. Irella - my mother - had very specific plans for me.”
“You’re Irella’s kid?”
“Yeah,” said Sisu. “You’d think that that would be great, but it really wasn’t. There was no room for my own ideas, my own lines of investigation. I had to further her research and stifle my own curiosity.”
Jarek tried to take that in stride. Irella’s son. How powerful would that make him? “What kind of research?”
“Deathless, mostly. I helped her acquire insight into how best to meld the powers of Nekuul with living flesh.” He tried hard to sound modest, but failed.
“What are they, Sisu?” Jarek took a step toward the youth. “You helped create them?”
Sisu sat up straighter. “It’s not like I had much choice in the matter. But, yes, I was the one who figured out the method. They’re - well, they’re men and women who are hovering on the verge of death. By bringing them to the point of nearly dying, one opens Nekuul’s gate to their souls. Her energies steal forth, and it’s at precisely that moment that you bolt them down into their flesh and prevent them from slipping free. The result is what you’ve seen - people augmented by Nekuul’s blessings, but who are still intelligent, able to move with the grace of a living body. It was absolutely fascinating, to open that final gate and then -”
Sisu cut himself off when he caught Jarek’s expression. “I don’t expect you to understand. You’re no Nekuulite.”
“No,” said Jarek. “I’m not. And these people – did they enter this state willingly?”
“Oh, yes,” said Sisu. “It’s what limits their numbers. Only those who are fully willing to undergo this transition are capable of pulling back from Nekuul’s gate. An unwilling soul slips through despite the bindings, like water through your fingers.” He slumped back. “And you wouldn’t believe how many adepts profess absolute certainty in their willingness to serve as a deathless, only to slip away when the moment of truth comes. Raising one out of every ten attempts was about as good a conversion as we ever managed.”
Jarek fought back his horror. “And how were they bound? Can they be… unbound?”
“The eyes. They’re the windows through which the soul emerges from one’s body at the time of death.” Sisu tapped the arm of his throne. “We found that by pouring a mixture of sanctified bitumen, Irella’s blood, and gold dust into their eye sockets while they were still alive sealed the doors. As long as their eyes are blocked, they cannot die, even if they’re hacked apart to the smallest pieces.”
“Even if they’re hacked apart?”
“Yes. It’s pretty grisly. The small chunks of flesh will live on, animated in some capacity. I saw severed heads retain their animation and ability to converse indefinitely. Of course, they started to become incoherent. There’s something about decapitation that breaks down the mind after a month or so, apparently.”
“But if the eyes are wounded? If the seal is broken?”
“Whoosh!” Sisu fluttered both hands up into the air. “Their spirit will flee to the netherworld in an instant. It’s why they wear their masks, of course. They’re inlaid on the inside with steel.”
“And, no doubt, to prevent everyone from running in terror at the sight of their ugly faces,” Kish said, striding into the room with a strangely curved blade in one hand. “Look at what I found, Jarek. A Maganian khopesh!”
Jarek took the weapon and examined it in the light of a lantern.
Kish looked on, her voice almost businesslike. “The vendor was Maganian himself, and he explained that the curve at the end, there, is inspired by axes. Great for hacking limbs off, apparently.”
“It resembles a Maganian khopesh, but it’s not the real thing,” Jarek said, handing it back.
“It’s not? I paid seven silver for it!”
Sisu chuckled, and she shot him a murderous glare.
“First, the Maganians only sharpen the outside blade. This one is sharpened on both sides. Second, the hilt is made of pine. It would shatter in combat. Finally, it’s too long. Real Maganian khopeshes aren’t nearly that big.”
“Oh,” said Kish. She sank into a crouch, holding the sword with both hands, then thrust it forward experimentally. “I don’t know why they’d use such a thing instead of a regular sword.”
“Have you been to Magan?” Sisu asked, stepping down from his throne to join them. “Are they truly ruled by massive winged lions wiser than any man?”
“I haven’t,” said Jarek. “Acharsis might have. As for their lamasu, I’ve heard from people I trust that they’re real.”
“I’d like to go one day,” said Kish. “Perhaps after this job. I imagine staying in Rekkidu will be too dangerous. What do you say, Sisu? Want to travel to mystical Magan and see their winged lions?”
“No,” said Sisu. “Why would I leave Nekuul’s domain of influence? Here, I’m nearly as potent as a demigod. Out there? I really would be the brat you think I am.”
Before Kish could complain, Babati came running down. “People coming! Acharsis and Annara!”
“About bloody time,” Jarek said as Sisu hurried up to his throne and threw himself onto it, trying to look relaxed and confident, one leg hiked up over the chair’s arm.
Acharsis and Annara entered a moment later.
“Friends!” Acharsis’ voice was crackling with good humor. “We have penetrated the very heart of the enemy’s domain and wrested from them secrets of incalculable value, and a plan is already formulating within the twisted depths of my mind.”
They were clad in the pale robes of merchants, though their bulkiness would give away to a perceptive observer that they were more than th
ey appeared.
“No difficulties?” asked Sisu.
“Plenty of difficulties,” Annara said, moving to the platters of food. “So many, I don’t know where to start.”
“Not difficulties,” said Acharsis. “Challenges we’ve got to overcome.”
Ishi stirred, smacked her lips a few times, then struggled to sit up. “Is it tea time yet?”
“Assuredly,” said Acharsis. “Now, listen: the ziggurat has eight tiers. It’s a monster, nearly the match of Uros’. New buildings, lots of activity everywhere, and death watch guards wherever you look.”
Everyone gathered in a circle in front of Acharsis as he cleared the table of platters and pulled a jar from his robes. He unstoppered it, then poured fine white sand onto the table’s surface.
“Here,” he said, making a large rectangle with his finger, “are the complex’s outer walls. The Leonis passes by the rear, roughly so. The ziggurat, priest’s quarters to the left, and assorted buildings here on the right, where everything else takes place.”
Jarek stared down at the map of his former home. His ziggurat. His palace. He felt a dull headache begin to throb behind his eyes.
“Now,” Acharsis went on, “there are dozens of guards on each tier of the ziggurat, and they are constantly scanning the grounds for trouble. We learned that Elu is being held on the third floor in a special vault guarded by two deathless per door. Four entrances in total, eight deathless in all.”
“Ninsaba’s horns,” muttered Ishi. “Eight?”
“And yet he’s been grinning since we left,” said Annara. “Insufferable!”
“What’s more,” Acharsis said, his grin widening, “they have a specially prepared room a floor above that’s laced with Nekuulite wards specifically designed to hold even a demigod at bay. It’s currently empty.”
“Why?” Kish asked, leaning forward as Acharsis sketched out the innards of the ziggurat.
“It would seem they once anticipated catching someone very, very powerful who got away,” said Acharsis. “At any rate, leeches are converging on Rekkidu in large numbers. They’ll be swarming all over it by the time of the ritual. The inside of the ziggurat is guarded by the dead, who, it seems, will attack anyone not in possession of a Nekuulite tear or not in the company of someone who does.”
Sisu had been craning to look from his throne. With a sigh, he descended again to join them. “That’s right. All adepts and masters create a tear upon their elevation to the mysteries.”
Jarek pondered that, then asked, “So, we steal a half-dozen tears and sneak in?”
“No,” said Sisu. “That wouldn’t work. Each tear is keyed to its owner. It’s complicated and involves visions of death, the owner’s blood, and lots of rituals. They’re only potent when held by their creator.” He leaned back and added nonchalantly, “Of course, I’m powerful enough to make them think I have a tear.”
Kish placed one fist inside the other and cracked her knuckles. “So, we get Sisu to sneak us inside?”
“Even if we did,” Annara said, frustration leaking into her voice, “how do we get past the deathless? Even if we could get Elu out, we’d be in the heart of the ziggurat, surrounded by the dead and the watch, with leeches everywhere and an entire complex to escape.” She shook her head. “It’s impossible.”
“No, it’s almost impossible,” said Acharsis. “Sisu, this is what we’re going to do. On the day before the grand ritual, we’re going to sell you to the next leech who comes into the city. I’m sure they won’t turn down another godsblood for Akkodaisis’ bloody ritual.”
“What?” Sisu reared back. “Are you mad?”
Ishi made a strangling sound. “That’s what we’ve been fighting to avoid for years!”
“Exactly. Because, what will they do with him?”
Jarek frowned. “Take him to the godsblood vault and hold him there for sacrifice.”
“Not if they know I’m a Nekuulite,” Sisu said caustically.
“Why would they?” Acharsis raised an eyebrow. “Kish will tell them you’re a descendant of another god, which was betrayed by the powers she saw you use. Simple enough. You’ll praise Qun loudly, and the guards will be only too pleased to put you inside.”
“All right,” said Sisu. “I see what you’re after. With my power, I can slip past the deathless and escape the vault.”
“Can he take Elu with him?” asked Annara.
“No,” said Sisu. “I can’t. They’d ignore me, but not him. If they were regular dead, we could both walk by, but they’re not. Far from it.”
“So?” Annara turned to Acharsis.
“That’s just the first step. The second step is where we all dress up as seekers and bring Jarek in to be executed.”
Everyone turned to stare at him. “And why,” asked Annara, “by Alok’s two sacred rocks, would we do that?”
“Because,” Acharsis said, reveling in their expressions, “they would immediately put you in their special warded chamber. The one I think they’ve had waiting for you ever since you escaped.”
“The one I can’t escape from,” said Jarek.
“Right,” said Acharsis.
“Sacrilege,” said Sisu. “And folly. To dress as seekers and enter Nekuul’s temple? You’ll be inviting such impurity to yourself that you’ll never be cleansed.”
Acharsis shrugged. “Only seekers could feasibly capture Jarek, and these days I’m not too worried about impurity. So, this is how it goes down. Sisu escapes from the vault after telling Elu what our plan is and makes his way upstairs to where you’re being held prisoner. The dead won’t challenge him due to his powers over them, and the guards won’t challenge him due to the dead’s leaving him alone. Sisu then breaks into the warded room and frees Jarek.”
Nobody spoke. Jarek tried to think ahead. Both he and Sisu at large inside the ziggurat. To what end? “The room is warded for a reason. Sisu will be affected just like me.”
“Actually, not quite,” said Sisu. “My power comes from Nekuul. Those will be her wards. They won’t affect me at all.”
Jarek shrugged irritably. “It doesn’t matter. The moment I leave the chamber, they’ll be all over me.”
“Exactly.” Acharsis drew a line from the fourth floor toward the sanctum. “You’ll fight your way toward Akkodaisis. This will cause everybody to go crazy with fear. The entire ziggurat will mobilize to stop you.”
Ishi frowned at the map. “Drawing the deathless from the vault?”
“Yes. Which is when the rest of us, having waited around as false seekers, break Elu out.”
“But we’re still trapped in the ziggurat,” said Kish. “I’m not afraid to fight, but that many guards? We’d never even make it to the Gates of Stone.”
“We won’t be going to the Gates of Stone. We’ll be going down. Jarek, you said there are ancient cellars beneath the ziggurat?”
Jarek nodded warily. “Yes. From Old Rekkidu.”
“Sisu, you’re going to order your dead to start digging. We can leave off expanding your netherworld here for two weeks. They’re to dig to the base of the ziggurat and break into one of those cellars.”
Sisu narrowed his eyes and looked at the wall as if he was taking in invisible distances and gauging the work it would take. “We’re two hundred yards from the complex,” he said. “It’s… possible. Perhaps.”
“It has to happen. Jarek can help you; he’s good with rocks. We make our way down to the cellars, then out through the tunnel. Once we’re out the other side, we break open your emergency sluice gates and flood everything, buying ourselves time to escape.”
Again, nobody spoke. Finally, Annara bestirred herself. “But, what of Jarek?”
Jarek met Acharsis’ glittering gaze. His headache was pounding now, making even the lantern light painful. “He knows me too well.”
“It’s your call, old friend.”
“You’re not my -”
“I know.” Then, more sadly, Acharsis said, “I know.”
Jarek hunched his shoulders. Four levels to Alok’s old sanctum. Four levels to Akkodaisis. “Yes,” he said. “Yes. I’ll do it.”
“Do what?” asked Annara. “Suicide?”
“Vengeance,” he said.
Annara rounded on him. “You’re going to kill yourself? For what? You won’t change Irella’s rule. She’ll just replace Akkodaisis with someone else. It won’t change a thing.”
Jarek looked down at his hands. They were still well-veined and powerful, but the skin on their backs had grown rough. They were the hands of an aging man. “I’m not trying to change anything. I’ll be satisfied with killing Akkodaisis and dying in my old sanctum.”
Annara shook her head again and looked to Acharsis for support, but she didn’t get it. “Jarek, don’t throw your life away. Come with us. Acharsis will find a way to get you out, to help you escape.”
“I don’t want to escape,” Jarek said. The nausea was hitting him in waves now. “I’m tired of running. Of being a shadow of who I used to be. I never thought I’d come back to Rekkidu, but now that I’m here, I don’t want to leave.” He met Acharsis’ gaze. “I’ll do it.”
“Well, I don’t know if you can,” said Kish. “You’re a great fighter, but against that many deathless, guards, armed dead and leeches? I doubt you’d get to the sixth level, much less the sanctum.”
Jarek went to protest, but she was right. He’d barely been able to hold off one deathless. What would he do against eight or more? He sank down onto a stool as a wave of despair engulfed him. “I have to reach the sanctum,” he said. “I have to.”
“Which is the final part of my plan,” said Acharsis quietly. “We’ve got two weeks till the grand ritual. Two weeks in which to rile up the people of Rekkidu. Two weeks in which to stir up their faith in Alok once more. Whatever it takes, whatever we can do, we’re going to make people believe again.”
Ishi sighed. “And with that faith, Alok will turn from the darkness and once again look upon Jarek.”
