King of Shards

by Matthew Kressel

  His face grew red, but she knew he would not hit her, the coward. Her body ached, but it was wonderful to be free of the belts. She wiped sand from her clothes as she stood. The men crossed their arms and waited.

  “Well?”

  Teeth missing, lice crawling in their beards, panting like dogs, they watched her. Her parents were dead, and yet these vermin got to live? Justice had to be meted out.

  In Yarrow, on the Pedestal of Lamentation, the acoustics had been superb. Here, the desert swallowed her voice like a hungry beast. She adjusted her volume, adding staccato, melody. She thought of Mama, Papa, Liu, using her feelings like kindling for flames inside her. She stoked them to a raging conflagration. Her voice rose in pitch, as patient as the rising sun.

  Their pupils dilated. Their mouths opened. Their faces went slack.

  The masons had labored twice as hard when she’d sung. Davo and the masons might all be dead now. The Ukne had been toppled. The kindling piled on.

  Their eyes rolled up into their heads as they trembled like old men.

  When she had wanted the masons to add reticulation or distressing to the stonework, they had obeyed her, even though Chief Jo might give them the whip. And now, while she sang, she understood why. They had no choice. They had become tools.

  Drool dripped from their mouths, their arms dropped to their sides, and their eyes went as blank as the statues that had lined Azru’s streets and stood no more.

  The Mikulalim kneeled when she’d imagined them kneeling. And the same thundering arousal, that torrent of pleasure, shuddered through her again. The men dropped to their knees, faces bright red, their trousers tented and pricks throbbing. Their minds were gone, sung away. They were hers.

  She imagined the charlatan walking into the tent and using her knife to free Emod. And the cretin did just that, his eyes spinning like stars as he walked.

  As she sang, there came a shriek, then a gurgling sound. Emod emerged with her bejeweled knife, blood dripping down the blade. His expression was wild, manic.

  She sang and Emod slew each in turn. He jabbed the knife into their backs, some more than once, because they were large, and it was only when the men received their fatal blow did they shriek. Emod slaughtered them all, but before he killed the leader, Rana stopped singing.

  The beast man fell to his knees, shuddering. Emod awoke from her spell, gasped, and threw the bloody knife to the sands.

  The kneeling man said to her, “Please, please don’t—”

  “Take off your clothes,” she said.

  “What?” he whimpered.

  “Take off your fucking clothes.”

  “Yes, yes, whatever you say!” He got up and stripped to his undergarments.

  “Everything,” she said. “Take it all off.” Naked, he stood before her like a scrofulous goat. He was potbellied, covered in curly dark hairs. She picked up her knife.

  “Rana!” Emod said. “Don’t.”

  “Get on your knees,” she said.

  The man dropped to the sand. “I have a storehouse in Blömsnu!” he cried. “Rooms full of treasure! It’s yours! Every last gem!”

  “Gems?” she said. “Will rubies bring my parents back? Will a bag of emeralds return my sister to me?”

  “No,” the man cried. “But they will make their loss easier to bear.”

  “He’s right!” Emod said.

  “No,” Rana said. “Only one thing will make this right.” She moved toward him, twirling her knife.

  “Please!” he said. “Life is hard in the desert. We do what we have to. You know the rules of the sands!”

  “Shhh,” she whispered as she ran a finger down his cheek, as he had done to her last night. “Quiet now. It’s time for the dog to go to sleep now.”

  “You dirty witch whore!” he spat as tears poured down his face. “I should have fucked you when I had the chance!” He lunged for her, but she thrust the knife into his crotch. He screamed as blood poured from the wound. Emod cried out and turned away.

  Holding his bleeding crotch, the man screamed, “Please!”

  “How many of your victims begged for mercy? How many women did you rape and kill? How many children did you slaughter? How many families did you destroy? Where was your mercy then?”

  The man shook his head and whimpered. “Please!”

  She pushed him onto his back and with a quick slice, she removed his genitals from his body. He wailed as she held the severed flesh above his face, letting its blood spill into his mouth. He coughed and choked on his blood and tears.

  “Funny,” she said, “how so many of the world’s problems are caused by this little piece of flesh. And yours, I must say, is so very little.” She tossed it over her shoulder. “Enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

  Emod was staring at her, mouth agape.

  “What are you looking at?” she spat.

  He retreated from her, as if she might pounce.

  “Let’s load the camels and get the fuck out of here,” she said.

  “Rana,” Emod said, trembling, “what are you?”

  “What am I?” The dead men lay quiet around her. The sands were stained with their blood. “I am judgment.”

  A tear rolled down Emod’s cheek. “If you are judgment, then I shall be mercy.” He picked up a sword and said to the leader, “Forgive me.” Then he plunged the blade into the man’s chest. The man gurgled and went still.

  In the silence, Rana’s heart calmed. She held her dagger up to the light, and its gems flashed with tiny rainbows. She wiped blood from the blade with her shirt, while Emod fell to his knees beside her. He made the Mollai Triangle with his fingers and said, “Goddess, forgive me! Giver of rain and succor and life, forgive me.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Where are you, Rana, Caleb thought, you precious, irreplaceable wonder? Do you lie broken under a heap of stone? Did Mashit find you, and is she at this very moment torturing you to find out where we’ve gone? Or did you escape and are now flying toward me like a sparrow over the sands? Grug, Caleb thought, have you failed me?

  Time would reveal all soon enough. There was none like Rana in a billion Shards. With her vision and his guidance, together they could do great things. If she were dead, such a loss! Such a loss.

  “Are you listening?” Daniel said.

  The three of them, Daniel, Marul and Caleb, sat on a fine-tapestried carpet inside the Bedu tent, its walls adorned with golden and crimson filigree. A hanging censer misted the air with strong perfume. Bedu servants pried them with food and wine, and their many bronze bowls and silver cups shone.

  “What happened to Azru?” Daniel said as a servant girl offered them a tray of dried fruits. He declined, but Marul helped herself to generous portions.

  “Delicious!” Marul said to the yellow-eyed girl. “Where are they from?”

  “Witch,” Caleb said “are you cracked in the head? We are but one word away from sharing the fate of the Mikulalim, and you feast? Right now Elizel is meeting with the leaders of his house to decide our fate. This could be our last meal.”

  “All the more reason to enjoy it,” she said. “Besides, it’s been quite a long time since I’ve had a meal like this.”

  Daniel said to the servant girl, “Azru was attacked?”

  The girl looked for another servant, who had just stepped outside to refill a pitcher. The gold on her wrists, neck, and waist could have bought a small city, and yet among the Bedu she was of the servant’s house. Such was the Bedu wealth. She blinked her yellow eyes and said, “Thus go the whispers of the woodcock on the wind.”

  Marul pointed into her cup and a lithe young man refilled it with wine. She eyed his crotch as he poured.

  “Tell me what happened,” Daniel said.

  “A hole in heaven opened up,” the girl said, “and a horde of demons fell out.” Underneath her fear was a hint of excitement. “It’s said that King Jallifex’s head rots on a spit, and his subjects scatter across the sands. You three are from the Araatz?
”

  “We’re from many places,” Marul said, giving Daniel a cautious look.

  “Do you encounter many maneaters?” said the girl. “Or demons?”

  An older girl entered the tent and said, “Aviva, go refill your pitcher in the store-tent.”

  The girl nodded, and her gold adornments flashed as she stepped out into the sun.

  “Marul,” Caleb said. “Isn’t it about time, we had that talk?” He hoped she understood his implication. It took her a minute, when she finally nodded.

  “Yes,” she said, putting down her cup. She placed her hands on her knees, palms up, then brought her hands together, turning her hands so that one palm spun over the other, then reversed the gesture. In Demonsbreath she mumbled twenty-nine words. The older girl looked as if she was about to speak when the glimmer in her eyes froze like glass. The smoke from the censer stopped mid-rise, its curlicue poised like a question mark.

  “What’s happened?” Daniel said. “Why did everything stop?”

  Marul kept her palms together. “We’re moving in sped up time,” she said.

  Daniel sat back, eyes wide. “Like the scorpions on Kipod’s Stair?”

  “Except we’re the ones moving faster now,” she said. “They can’t hear us.”

  “They’ve been listening to everything we say,” Caleb said. “And reporting back to Elizel. They give us food and drink to make us slow and stupid, in the hope that we might reveal something. We are not guests here.”

  Daniel said, “They can’t hear us at all?”

  “They might hear a brief buzz,” Marul said. “Like an insect passing.”

  Daniel leaned forward, scowling, as he said to Caleb, “You ordered the Mikulalim to die. You murdered them!”

  “If you recall,” Caleb said, “it was not I who sliced open their cloaks and tossed their bodies into the flames.”

  Daniel’s face turned red. “Nine men were burned alive because you commanded them to lay down their swords and die.”

  “The Mikulalim aren’t men,” Caleb said. “They are fragments.”

  “Where you see fragments,” Daniel said, “I see slaves.”

  “I’m not sure how long I can hold this spell,” Marul said. “Can we get to the point?”

  “Do you think they would spare you, Daniel,” Caleb said, “if they knew the Mikulal poison swirled in your blood too? How quickly you forget that I saved you. Twice now.”

  “I should tell them you’re a demon,” Daniel said.

  “Only if you are suicidal,” Caleb said. “They’ll kill us all if they discover who I am.”

  “They may have already sensed your nature,” Marul said.

  “Doubtful,” said Caleb. “I’ve taken precautions. I am as human as can possibly be.”

  “Not from where I sit,” Daniel said, staring at him.

  “Are you as vulnerable as a human too?” Marul said.

  Caleb looked into Marul’s green eyes, searching for motive. A hint of her old power glinted there, under the surface, the part of Marul who once thought she could be a god. What are you plotting, witch? he thought.

  “Enough of these games,” he said. “We need each other as much as we need the Quog Bedu. Their priests are the only ones who have the power to get us back to Earth. If I had ordered the Mikulalim to fight, how would you suppose we curry their favor then?”

  “Slaughter is not the only way!” Daniel said.

  “Have you a better path?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Truth. Honesty. Once they understand what’s at stake, they’ll help us. We’re trying to save Gehinnom too.”

  Marul shook her head. “We can’t tell them the truth. Not all of it, anyway. Once we reveal ourselves they will only see us as a witch, a demon, and a maneater trying to deceive them.”

  “You don’t know that for sure.”

  “I’ve lived with these Bedu,” Marul said. “There is a reason why they’ve survived for centuries on this world where all things turn to dust. They trust no one, only Bedu, and sometimes not even then. They are a cautious people, for good reason. We cannot tell them the truth, but perhaps we can reveal just enough to get you home.”

  “So, what’s the plan then?” Daniel said. “Keep murdering people until I get home?”

  Caleb took a deep quaff of palm wine from his silver cup, and felt his stomach warm as it went down. “We first must convince Elizel to help us. To do that we must appeal to his self-preservation. Let me do the talking.”

  “My spell is faltering,” Marul said. “Hurry! Everyone, back in your places.”

  The question mark of smoke began to rise, slowly at first, until it became a fading exclamation point. The servant girl blinked and looked bemused. She gave a curious look at Caleb’s half-empty cup, which had been full a moment before.

  “May I offer you more palm wine?” she said, adding a smile.

  Every one is a spy, Caleb thought. Well-trained to feign innocence. “The Bedu have been more than gracious,” he said to her with a broad smile.

  Outside, a man shouted, “The Chieftain is coming!”

  Elizel ben Alazar stooped as he entered their tent, and the servants bowed to him. Two strong men followed Elizel. Caleb and the others rose, and Caleb made the Mollai Triangle to greet him.

  “Sit, sit!” Elizel said, pointing at the rug. “Be comfortable and serene. This is a tent of peace.” But his hasty words betrayed his urgency. Beside him stood a tall, burly man with a square black beard. “This is Otto ben Zadok, general of our armies.”

  Otto bowed to them as his eyes stayed fixed on Caleb.

  “And this is Uriel ben Temen.” He was hard-jawed man with large, dark eyes unusually far apart, like a camel. “Uriel is our High Priest, master of Scriptures, and my right-hand. Otto and Uriel will hear your story.” All of them sat and formed a circle. With a wave of Elizel’s hand the servants fled the tent. Outside, Caleb saw, four guards stood with hands on sword hilts. Appearances aside, this was no friendly convocation.

  “Have you eaten enough?” Elizel said. “Had your fill of wine?”

  “The Bedu hospitality knows no limits,” Caleb said.

  “We have only a few minutes before the shift,” Elizel said, referring to the tides of sand. “We must speak quickly.”

  Uriel’s camel eyes warily observed them, as if Caleb and the others might strike at any moment. Otto meanwhile endlessly tugged at his beard, looking thoughtful.

  “Well?” Elizel said. “Speak!”

  Caleb took a deep breath. “Brothers of the sands, the Seventh Book of Tobai speaks of the Thirty-Six Pillars that hold the Kuurku aloft in Heaven. I shall presume all you learned men know the story.”

  Uriel looked to Elizel for permission, and Elizel nodded. “Yes, we know the tales of the Thirty-Six Pillars quite well,” Uriel said. “And we know the myriad interpretations of the interpretations of the interpretations.”

  “Brothers, what if I were to tell you that those ceaseless fountains will soon cease? That the water of life will stop flowing?”

  “Stop how?” said Uriel.

  “Demons are murdering the Thirty-Six Pillars, one by one, in the Kuurku. Like a house with weakened columns, the Kuurku will collapse. When this happens, all of us will suffer horrible torments for eons until we die in a cataclysm so great the whole Cosmos will shudder.”

  Uriel said, “Are these demons who kill the Thirty-Six Pillars the same beasts who have attacked the cities across Gehinnom?”

  “Yes, they are the Legion of the First, and under the command of Mashit, a demoness.”

  “We know of Mashit,” Otto said, spitting to the side. “Word has come from afar that she’s taken over the throne of Sheol from the cursed Ashmedai.” He spat again.

  “And now,” Caleb said, “Mashit is using the Legion to attack cities across Gehinnom.”

  Otto whispered something in Elizel’s ear, and Elizel nodded.

  Otto said, “Why do they attack this world, now?”

 
“Have you seen the fragments falling in the night sky?”

  Uriel nodded and said, “They are pieces of the Kuurku, the Seat of the Flowing Waters.”

  “The wisdom of the Quog Bedu is renowned,” Caleb said. “In order to destroy a Pillar, one must break him from the Kuurku like chiseling a brick from a wall. You must remove the mortar to free the brick. The Legion has been killing the Thirty-Six Pillars, one by one, and these fragments of the Kuurku are evidence of their removal.”

  Uriel nodded. “Continue.”

  “Soon, brothers, there won’t be enough Pillars to uphold the Kuurku. The waters of life will rain down in an unimaginable torrent upon this world and the myriad Shards. There will be an explosion of life like this world has never seen. But the waters will soon cease, the Shards will dry up, and our souls will wither in the Great Deep over timespans beyond imagining. It will be the end of this cycle of eternity.”

  Uriel took a long, deliberate breath. “This is but one interpretation of events. Our priests have debated the signs. Where you see portents of ending, we prophesy a new beginning for this world. As one cycle completes, another begins.”

  “Surely, you are joking,” Caleb said.

  “Blessed Mollai, Giver of Rain and Succor, redeems the souls of her faithful servants,” Uriel said, “as it is written, ‘At the end of every season, Mollai brings the fallen to her breast.’”

  Was he playing the fool, to bait him? Or did Uriel really believe this drivel?

  “Brothers,” Caleb said, “if what I say comes to pass, even blessed Mollai, Giver of Rain, will perish too.”

  Otto scowled. “The Great Goddess is not mortal!” He jumped to his feet. “I think we’ve heard enough, Lord Elizel. The shift comes and—”

  But Elizel pulled him back down. “Sit! We have more to hear from Caleb.”

  “Thank you, Lord Elizel,” Caleb said, as Otto reluctantly sat.

  “Marul says you need our help,” Elizel said. “How?”