by Phil Tucker
Most of it had been cut through clay and sandstone, and as Acharsis drew closer to the docks, the walls became slimy with moisture. Finally, he reached the lone lookout, a single dead man standing motionless under a wooden scaffold that held up a rigged series of wooden boards.
“Hello,” said Acharsis.
It watched him with its milky eyes and made no response.
“Right,” said Acharsis. “Good, good.”
He crouched beneath the scaffold and examined it one more time. A single rope descended from a carefully balanced crossbeam, which in turn held up the struts that supported the planks. One determined yank would pull the whole mess down, revealing the muddy underside of the harbor. It had taken six dead and Jarek’s help to shore up the sagging morass of mud and silt, and this dead man had been given simple instructions: when he saw the flash of the mirror at the end of the tunnel, he was to yank on the cord and then dig at the mud till the harbor came pouring through.
Simple.
Acharsis felt a strange, wobbly feeling in the pit of his stomach as he considered the planks. He could almost feel the terrible pressure of all that brown water on the far side. The thought made him queasy. If it were to give way now for some reason…
“All right.” He gave the dead man a tight smile. “Good man. Good luck.”
The dead man stared blankly at him.
Unnerved, Acharsis turned and began to hurry back down the tunnel. This was the most complex part of the plan, and thus the part most likely to fail. Still, it wasn’t crucial to their success; if the dead man failed to trigger the dead-fall, they’d have to outrace the Nekuulites on their tail, but that could be done. It would just prove to be a much more exciting exit than he’d anticipated.
Acharsis felt Ninsaba’s amulet twitch on his chest as it cracked. He turned and saw a dancing figure cavorting and jerking just inches behind him.
He saw up-flung arms, rolling eyes, a vacuous smile, filthy, clotted hair swinging around like tar-dipped ropes.
He saw the glint of chains, manacles and collar, heard the clink of metal, and was hit by a wall of filth and unspeakable decay.
His demon.
It eyed him as it capered, closer than he’d ever seen it, so close he could have reached out and touched it.
Terror engulfed him, and he staggered back and tripped. Still, it danced, coming closer, at once celebratory, pathetic, and absolutely horrifying.
“No,” Acharsis whispered, scrambling back.
He lurched to his feet, then turned and left the wretched thing behind him in the dark, running for all he was worth, feet pounding the dirt, shoulders scraping the rocky sides as he careened off them. His ragged gasps echoed all around him, and he thought he could hear it dancing behind him in the dark.
He burst out into Sisu’s court with a cry, staggered and nearly fell only to turn back, ignoring the looks of the others, and face the tunnel mouth. But, of course, his demon didn’t follow. If it was still in there, it would be farther back in the darkness. Watching. Waiting.
“Acharsis?” Annara stepped up beside him, a long knife in her hand. “What is it? What’s coming?”
Kish moved up on his other side, hammer at the ready.
A moment later, Jarek emerged from another tunnel, a replacement hammer held in both hands. “Are we under attack?”
Acharsis shook his head, unable to speak, and moved to sit on the steps in front of Sisu’s throne. The implications were only now hitting him. He buried his head in his hands and fought for calm, to catch his breath.
The others gathered warily around him, Ishi silently joining their number.
The old woman moved to the fore. “What did you see? An omen?”
“Yes,” he said. “I mean, no. Not an omen.” It was so hard to say it, to name it after all these years, to give voice to his curse. “I saw my demon.”
“Demon?” Ishi almost recoiled. “Yours?”
“Mine.” He sat up. “Ever since the Betrayal.” He felt bleak, wretched, alone amongst his friends. “Jarek, remember I told you I had also paid a price? Well, this is it.”
“What does it want?” Kish cast a glance at the tunnel entrance. “Is it still there?”
Acharsis pulled out Ninsaba’s amulet, now crumpled into a ball. “No, it’s probably gone now, back to wherever it dwells. As for what it wants?” Lethargy flooded through him, a pure exhaustion of the soul. “It doesn’t want anything, not that I can tell. It’s never answered questions. I don’t even know if it speaks our language. It just… dances. Mocks me. Mocks my dreams and ambitions.”
“Why now?” asked Annara. “Why did it appear to you now?”
The desire to sleep was almost overwhelming. He wanted to find a corner and pull a sheet over his head, to turn away and forget everything that was at stake.
“It only appears when my luck is going to turn sour. Or perhaps its appearance ruins my luck. I’ve only ever seen it before a personal disaster.”
Nobody spoke.
Acharsis forced himself to face Annara’s eyes. “Remember when I arrived in Eruk? I saw it then. Dancing down the side of the hill, into a ravine.”
She stiffened.
Acharsis forced himself to continue. “Then Yesu arrived, Kenu was killed, and Elu was stolen. Was that my fault? I don’t know. But perhaps I should have left the moment I saw the demon. Perhaps I should never have come up. So maybe it is my fault.” He hung his head. “I don’t know.”
Kish sank into a crouch. “And now we’re about to enter Nekuul’s ziggurat and try to steal her sacrifice right out from under her nose.”
“Yes,” said Acharsis. “We’re about to attempt the riskiest thing I’ve ever conceived. And I’ve just been told it’s going to go disastrously wrong.”
“Ninsaba’s horns,” Ishi whispered.
They stood in silence once more, each of them lost in their own thoughts.
Acharsis wanted to walk away into the tunnels and lose himself forevermore in their shadowed embrace. Instead, he slowly rose to his feet. He looked at his hands, at the old scars, the aged skin, the whorled knuckles. He felt old. No, he was old. Adventures were the province of youth. And yet…
“I’ve brought you all here. Annara gave us the motive, but I shaped the plan. And now it’s my own curse that promises doom. But I won’t back down now. Even if everything goes disastrously wrong, I won’t turn my back on Elu.”
He met Annara’s gaze. “He’s my son. I’m no father to him, but he’s my son. And damn Akkodaisis for daring to murder him. Damn Akkodaisis for murdering all the other godsbloods. Damn Irella for her hubris and madness. Damn Nekuul for overstepping her bounds.”
A fierce determination arose within him, a flame that burned on the pyre of his hopes. “I’ll go in there and do my best. And I’ll lose. But I won’t let that stop me from doing what’s right. I won’t let that stop me from doing everything I can to help Elu and the others.
“I understand if you don’t want to continue. Kish, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Ishi, you’re an integral part of Rekkidu’s resistance, keeping the worship of Ninsaba alive. You don’t have to come with me. Any of you.”
“Thank you, Acharsis,” Annara softly said. She reached out and took his hand and squeezed it tightly. “Thank you.”
“Well, I’m going,” said Jarek. “This ‘doom’ doesn’t change anything for me. I intend to embrace Nekuul tonight. I’ll do so regardless.”
Kish bit her lower lip and hefted her hammer. “Certain death?”
“No,” said Acharsis. “Nothing is certain. All we know is that my plan is going to go disastrously wrong. My luck is going to fail us in a way that I can’t foresee.”
“I’ll go,” Ishi said. Her voice was tight with fear, but her expression was stubborn. “I’m old. I’m lucky to have lived this long. I’ll fight for Elu and Ninsaba. I’ll go.”
Kish turned away from them and took a few steps and looked down at her hammer. Of all of them, she had t
he most to live for, and Acharsis’ heart went out to her.
She turned her hammer around in her hands, then looked back at their group. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to die. I don’t have any illusions about this world, but I love living in it. I love being alive.”
Acharsis went to respond, but she held up her hand, her brow creased in thought.
“But that makes me think. Maybe this was how the demon meant to bring about our downfall. Maybe it was hoping to splinter us. Maybe that’s how it was going to sour your luck. Drive us apart, weaken us, and make us ruin our own chances?”
Acharsis shrugged sadly. “I don’t know. It’s possible.”
Kish’s generous lips quirked. “Well, it’s not going to work. There’s no way I’m leaving Sisu in there by himself. And I want to make sure Jarek gets the death he deserves.”
Jarek laughed, a husky, broken sound. “That’s the sweetest thing anybody’s ever said to me.”
“I’m in,” said Kish. “The demon be damned twice over. I’m in.”
Acharsis looked around at each of them, proud of them all. “You brave, foolish people. All right, then. We proceed as planned. Let’s get dressed. It’s time to go meet our fates.”
Chapter 15
Dusk was falling as their group approached the Gate of Blood around the far left flank of the ziggurat complex. The streets were pulsing with humanity, people holding aloft lanterns and chanting, playing instruments and dancing in a frantic release of fear and anxiety. Tomorrow at dawn, Akkodaisis would greet Qun with a frenzy of bloodletting, and tonight the people of Rekkidu were celebrating their mortality.
It was only when they were close to the small Gate of Blood that Acharsis doffed his outer robe and cast it aside. The others took the cue and did likewise, and in moments they had transformed themselves from a nondescript party dressed in muddy hues to a grim assembly of Nekuul’s luminaries. Their robes were pitch black, with hems worked in silver in the intricate pattern of seekers that Sisu had drawn for them from memory.
Jarek was cruelly bound, his hands cinched tight behind his back. His elbows were similarly lashed, and his mouth was gagged; his head was covered with a rough sack. He walked carefully in the center of the group, slumped and defeated.
Despite the Gate of Blood’s lack of importance, it was guarded by some twenty members of the death watch. They stood at alert, spears bristling in the light of dozens of torches. No visitors were lined up before them, for no business entered the ziggurat through this gate; only the dead were brought through here, delivered to Nekuul for reanimation.
“Halt. This is - who are you?” The captain caught himself at the sight of their robes.
Acharsis stepped forward exuding calm disdain, his face a cold mask. “I am Seeker Warad. Open the gate. Now.”
“Seeker Warad?” The guard captain actually gulped. Acharsis had never seen a man do so before. The man studied his clothing, and then he looked at Jarek. “Is this…?”
“None of your concern, soldier. Now, in Nekuul’s name, open the gate.”
The captain hesitated a moment longer, then bobbed his head and gestured. The gate was opened, and the guards parted before them.
“I’ll send an escort with you,” said the captain.
Acharsis nodded, not bothering to look at the man as he strode forward. Whether the captain was suspicious or not didn’t matter; what mattered was that he play the role of Warad to the hilt and not give a damn.
Ten guards surrounded them and led them through the sparse crowd standing in the great courtyard at the side of the ziggurat. The main crowd was assembled at the front of the ziggurat, where they knelt in devotion – hundreds of Rekkidu’s most important citizens, listening raptly as a leech on the second tier harangued them about the netherworld. A few glanced their way, but Acharsis ignored their curious looks.
The ziggurat loomed up before them. The full moon bathed its harsh angles in silver light and made it a wonder to behold. Vast and terrible, its every tier was crowded with guards, making it seem like a fortress more than a place of worship. Braziers at every corner were burning brightly, sending their dancing flames up into the night, and Acharsis saw the sanctum at its very top illuminated as if by a hundred lanterns within.
“This way, Seeker,” said the captain, his voice shaky with nerves. “You wish to speak with Lord Akkodaisis himself?”
“Of course,” said Acharsis.
“He has just returned from his cleansing outside the city,” said the captain. “Come.”
The captain led them to the base of one of the exterior stairways and began to ascend. Acharsis followed, fighting the urge to look around. He was supremely aware that with each step, he was drawing closer to Nekuul’s manifest presence. Was she aware of his heresy? Was her attention coalescing around him? Would she blast him with green fire for his treachery?
They passed the third level, where Sisu and Elu were being held, and the fourth, with its warded chamber. They climbed higher yet, to the fifth tier, and then the sixth. Each level was shorter than the one previous, and the steps were fewer.
Acharsis eyed the luminous sanctum. Surely that wasn’t where they were headed?
To his relief, the captain turned aside and stepped into an archway on the sixth level, then led them along a short passageway into a brightly lit chamber. It was stunning, and it had to dominate almost the entirety of the sixth floor. Perhaps a hundred candles were burning around the supporting pillars, illuminating breathtaking mosaics that adorned the walls. A hundred thousand scintillas of colored stone gave life to the human figures and the marvelous beasts that seemed frozen in place, acting out eternal scenes from Nekuul’s mythology.
Incense was burning within cunningly latticed copper boxes, and the cool night air from outside was replaced by the closeness of cedar and musk and the press of bodies. This was Akkodaisis’ court, Acharsis saw: the center of his power, the fulcrum from which he leveraged his power over Rekkidu and its surrounding lands.
And there he was, seated at the far end of the room, raised high on a throne of gold that made Sisu’s throne appear but a crude mockery, Irella’s will made flesh.
Akkodaisis.
Acharsis studied him as they approached. He’d known him while he was alive – Jarek’s younger brother, perhaps even larger and more muscled then, with a great, booming laugh that knew no restraint and a passion for beer and women. Boisterous by nature, and with few of Jarek’s responsibilities, he had been a favorite with the soldiers and the cause of innumerable heartbreaks.
That man had died.
In his place sat a gaunt reflection. The flesh had wasted from his huge frame, and his face was nearly skeletal. His eye sockets burned twin green flames. On his brow was a crown made of cold iron, spiked and cruel. He was clad in ceremonial armor, a style that Acharsis had never seen before; it was segmented and spiked, inlaid with lapis lazuli and fearsome to behold.
Acharsis struggled to keep his face devoid of expression. Had he hoped to bluff this monster of Irella’s?
The crowd of courtiers and Nekuulites parted before them, and Akkodaisis leaned forward, one clawed hand grasping the arm of his throne. To his side, Acharsis saw Rexashas and Yesu amongst a half-dozen other leeches.
This was the moment of truth. Would the leech recognize him?
Apparently not. Yesu did not make the connection.
“Greetings, Lord Akkodaisis,” Acharsis called out as he came to a stop. “The one longed for and driven by his great divinity, whose command sways the rivers and orders the birds in the sky. May Nekuul find your every act acceptable, and by the reliable impress of your wedges on giving clay, may the record of your life of long days be preserved forevermore to your undying glory.”
“Seekers of Nekuul, be welcome to my court,” Akkodaisis said. His voice was ruinous, a whispering rush like fell winds pouring down ragged gulleys in the mountains. “I, beloved of Nekuul and humble servant of Empress Irella, receive you with open curiosit
y. Who is this that you have brought amongst our number?”
Acharsis nodded to Kish, who stepped forward and yanked Jarek’s hood from his head.
The crowd hissed and drew back, and even Akkodaisis sat up straighter.
The look in Jarek’s eyes was pure venom. They gleamed with a burning light that promised death to all those he saw, and he struggled mightily with his bonds, but to no avail. His shoulders swelled against the cruel ropes, and he chewed on his gag as if he sought to snap it and spit it out.
“Ah, dear brother,” said Akkodaisis, and now he rose to his full height, towering over Jarek. The viridian flames in his eye sockets burned all the brighter. “I had not hoped for such fortune. You have caused quite a stir in my city of late.”
Jarek grunted and again fought to snap his ropes. The death watch guard lowered their spears so that a dozen points were aimed at him, but Jarek paid them no mind.
“Did you truly seek to return Alok from the grave?”
Akkodaisis stepped down slowly until he was level with Jarek. He’d grown, somehow, or perhaps his new gauntness made him appear taller; wearing his wicked crown, he seemed to be a wight pulled directly from Nekuul’s dark realm.
“Did you truly think you could replace me and my undying mistress?”
Jarek threw himself forward, but Kish hissed and yanked back on her rope; immediately, the death watch guards ran forward and began to pummel at Jarek with the butts of their spears. He let out a muffled roar but could not defend himself.
Akkodaisis laughed, and the sound caused goosebumps to ripple down Acharsis’ arms.
“Foolish brother,” Akkodaisis said. “Though, I must admit, your act of revival was most impressive. Why now, I wonder? After all these long years, why have you chosen this ritual for your return? No matter; we shall have plenty of time to converse tonight, you and I.”
