by Brian Keene
Javan crossed through the crowd.
“You took your time,” Rogan mumbled around a mouthful of berries. Juice dribbled down his chin.
“I apologize, sire. I was distracted.”
Rising to his feet again, Rogan walked over and grabbed Eyota’s limp form. He laid the body on top of Takala’s, so that their corpses formed a cross. Then, with a bellow, Rogan withdrew his sword and thrust it down like a spear, impaling both men.
“WOOODANNN!”
His shout echoed through the trees. Akibeel and the women warriors stared aghast. Leaving the sword in the two bodies, Rogan drew his dirk and knelt, using Takala’s head as a pillow for his knee. Stabbing the dead man’s hairless chest, Rogan split the ribs and cut out his heart.
Zenata cried out and averted her eyes. Several of the Kennebeck onlookers vomited or gagged. The rest gasped and murmured. But none of them dared to approach Rogan. Rogan stomped his foot at the crowd, and they fled for their huts and scattered into the forest. Overhead, a flock of shrieking birds soared into the sky.
“By the heavens,” Asenka murmured, glancing around the deserted village, “they are all terrified of him now.”
Javan nodded. “As well they should be. Did they think him an ancient and kindly patriarch of our far land, tired and worn?”
Laughing, Rogan took a huge bite from Takala’s heart. Blood ran down his chin like plum juice. Swallowing, he then cast the organ aside.
“Is it bitter, Uncle?”
“Aye, Javan. Needs herbs.”
As Rogan wrenched his sword free, Asenka coughed, suppressing her gag reflex.
“That was barbaric!”
Javan seemed surprised. “He is a barbarian, miss. Did you think otherwise?”
“But he is a king—a ruler.”
“And a good one,” Javan confirmed. “But he is not as sophisticated as those he ruled. He is unlike anyone else to ever sit on Albion’s throne. You and your sister indicated before that you knew the stories of how he gained the throne. Did those methods seem civilized to you?”
“No. But this…”
Drawing his own dirk, Javan then walked over to the body of Eyota. Zenata followed him, curious. Cutting through the man’s loincloth, Javan stabbed upward and sliced quickly. Then he deposited his extracted prize on Eyota’s head.
Zenata grabbed Javan by the elbow and turned him around. “You say that your uncle is a barbarian, but then you cut off Eyota’s balls and place them on his face? You call that proper and civilized?”
Javan spoke somberly. “I do indeed. Most cultures believe the eyes are the windows to the soul, as do these people, if I’ve correctly understood everything Akibeel has told me. The first things the ravens will eat are Eyota’s eyes, so I covered them, giving his soul a fighting chance to leave first, should it choose to tarry in the confusion following his sudden death.”
Zenata was speechless.
“Come.” Rogan wiped his sword in Zenata’s hair, causing her to scream and run. “I have asked Wodan for his blessing on this venture with the blood of these fools. If he chooses not to recognize it, piss on him. We have more pressing matters, and I would sample more of the Kennebeck’s liquor, and perhaps one or both of these one-breasted women.”
Asenka bristled. She opened her mouth to retort, but Rogan cut her off with a grin. Arm outstretched, he motioned with his hand.
“If that is a yes, then shall we retire into the lodge?”
In his years of travel and adventure, Rogan had heard women curse in many languages.
None of them compared to Asenka’s.
AKIBEEL’S LODGE, WHILE similarly pyramidal, towered much larger than the other dwellings in the village. He ushered Rogan, Javan, Asenka, and Zenata inside. Accompanying them were two more of Asenka’s warrior women. Both of them eyed Rogan suspiciously. Also on hand were two of Akibeel’s mutant tribe mates; both male, one with a cleft palate and the other with an oversized singular eye in the middle of his face. Female attendants bustled in, carrying bowls and platters heaped with food. Each of the women also had noticeable birth defects.
The interior of the lodge was warm and dry. Sweet smelling smoke drifted from incense-filled earthen bowls; their sides painted with mystic symbols. Animal skins, sprigs of plants, and various totems lay scattered about, all for use by the shaman in his pagan ceremonies.
Rogan took a drink of cold, clear spring water and swilled it about in his mouth. He noticed that Zenata watched Javan closely.
“Careful, Javan,” he whispered in their own tongue, so that the others would not hear. “The young one eyes you like you were sweet candy.”
Javan gnawed a chicken leg. “Only an ignorant man wouldn’t note the desire of a lass.”
“What fool philosopher are you quoting now?”
“You, sire.”
“Nonsense,” Rogan grunted. “If that’s true, then I must have been drunk when I said it.”
“Quite probable, sire. Still, I knew the possibilities of paradise as well as the pitfalls of failure when I set out on this journey with you.”
Rogan chuckled. “You talk too much, boy.”
Though the Kennebeck folk had fallen on hard times, they managed to present a meal befitting the two newcomers. There was fire-roasted chicken stuffed with herbs; venison and rabbit; a thick, savory fish stew; flat cornbread, still warm from the hearth and slathered with rich, creamy butter; and nuts, fruits, and vegetables aplenty. They washed it down with water and wine, both of which flowed freely.
Rogan grunted in appreciation, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Tell Akibeel I have not had venison this good since my time in Shynar.”
Javan passed the message along. The old shaman smiled and bowed graciously. Then his face grew grave again. He chewed half-heartedly at a crust of bread. Rogan noticed that Akibeel’s eyes lingered on his deformed attendants.
Rogan studied the servant with the cleft palate and his cyclopean companion. “So these hideous defects, they are caused by Amazarak’s magic?”
Javan nodded. “They are infected with Croatoan’s green light. Apparently, the green light springs forth from some sort of otherworldly device. And Akibeel says that an even worse price can be exacted.”
“This price seems grave. What price could be worse?”
“The loss of their souls, sire. They say Amazarak is a soul collector for Croatoan. Once his work with their bodies is through, he steals their souls. His black lodge on the mountain is the abode of these souls.”
“Does he take their kin regularly?” Rogan accepted a bunch of green grapes from an attendant, and popped some into his mouth.
Javan nodded. “Amazarak’s loyalists steal away the children and full grown females and use them for sacrifice. He has a great force of former Kennebeck tribesmen at his disposal. They obey Amazarak’s orders because he controls their souls. Akibeel says that many suspected Takala and Eyota of being in league with Amazarak.”
“Not any longer.”
“True, Uncle.”
“Why don’t Akibeel’s people rise up and fight?”
“They try to, sire. But Amazarak’s raiders are armed with steel, and as you noted earlier, these people are not.”
“So they want us to kill this Amazarak. If he has warriors with steel, we are but two men.”
Asenka frowned. “What of us, old man? I can stop the life of anyone, wizard or warrior.”
“I stand corrected,” Rogan said. “We are but two men and a couple of female distractions. Once we destroy Amazarak’s forces, what then? How can I fight him or Croatoan? I am no wizard. I care little to dance with a devil at this stage in my life, or any other. I have done enough of that in the past.”
Akibeel patted Rogan on both shoulders and spoke to Javan.
“He says leave Amazarak to him,” Javan translated. “He will fight inside you.”
Rogan frowned. “That is the second time he’s said that. I like not the sound of it.”
Aki
beel spoke quickly. His spirits seemed to be lifting now that Rogan was expressing an interest.
Javan continued. “He says that your body and spirit are what he needs. Both are strong enough to best his rival. Akibeel thinks that his gods have sent you to destroy the devil on the mountain, as well. He sees it in his prophecies. A stranger not of this land is the only one to upset the balance of evil.”
“I love the sound of that.” Rogan’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “Javan, I don’t trust these men, but what can we do?”
“We could just start a long journey overland, sire, and hope we go far enough south to find our friends in Olmek-Tikal.”
“That crossed my thoughts, but it would take ages and I think our time is at a limit. We are needed across the ocean. Every day we remain here could cost them their lives.”
“Yes, sire, my thoughts truly.”
“Go back to your fallen kingdom,” Asenka said. “They do not need your sword. We will stay and aid them. The Kennebeck have fed us, made us welcome in their home. We shall stand by them.”
“You?” Rogan laughed. “That is a fine jest—a band of one-breasted women against this steel-wielding army.”
Asenka glared at him, her purple eyes unblinking. “We are not afraid, old man. Can you say the same?”
Rogan sprang to his feet, knocking aside a platter of nuts. “By Wodan, no woman speaks to me such. Arise, bitch, so that I may knock you down. It occurs to me that your mouth needs something to keep it busy.”
All four of the warrior women immediately jumped to their feet and drew their weapons. Akibeel let out a startled squawk, and the attendants shrank away, dropping platters and pitchers. Javan quickly moved between Rogan and Asenka, his arms outstretched, palms up.
“Please,” he said. “Need I remind you all that we are guests in this lodge?”
“Still your tongue, boy,” Rogan growled. “Or I’ll deal with you next.”
“While you’re doling out punishment,” Asenka spat, “you could instead focus your rage on these people’s oppressors.”
“Oh? Tell me, woman, how are we to fight all of Amazarak’s hordes? There will be far more than the dozen dead men who assailed us on the beach.”
“The Kennebeck don’t know how to forge steel, old man, but you do. You can teach them.”
Rogan raised an eyebrow, and turned to Javan. “Have you not wondered how this Amazarak knows the secret of steel, but these people do not? Aren’t they both originally from the same tribe?”
Javan translated for Akibeel. “Amazarak tapped an entity from beyond to work in steel even before the arrival of Croatoan, a creature called Azazyel. He gave the wizard the secret of steel in exchange for—”
Rogan sat again, his anger at the women forgotten, and waved a huge hand. “Yes, yes, all of these gods and devils want blood and children. I’ve heard that song before and never had understood the tune. Wodan be praised for his disregard of this world. At least he isn’t a vampire screaming for the blood of infants.”
“There is another obstacle as well, sire, but I’m not sure that I can translate it properly. I believe he’s saying ‘giants’, but I’m not sure.”
“Giants? I have slain several in my time.”
Akibeel chattered with irritation. Javan suppressed a laugh.
“What is he saying?” Rogan asked.
“It seems that Akibeel grows as frustrated with the pace of my translations as you do, sire. He wishes to consult with forces beyond so that he can speak to you directly. He asks that we give him a few moments to prepare, and invites us all to continue with our meals.”
They all sat again. The warrior women moved away from Rogan and Javan, shooting them wary glances as they ate.
“Sire,” Javan whispered, “tell me again of your vision.”
Rogan took a bite of corn. “There was something wrong, Javan. Truly, the palace was deceived. We must have been betrayed from within.”
“Why do you think that, sire?”
“The slaves, surely servants of this Karac, were allowed in close. So there was treachery from within. But this Karac, the one that is to have been my son, he sported long locks of shaggy hair.”
Javan gnawed at a rabbit leg. “And why does that trouble you?”
Rogan frowned. “Because they shear down slaves so that lice cannot spread. No matter if they work in the field or as teamsters. The other blacks in the palace were bald, but Karac had hair.”
“Fascinating.”
“I can see the damned teamsters arguing with Volstag, wanting more pay and inserting a newcomer like that to make him angry. But never mind that. We were betrayed, plain and simple. And perhaps not just by our slaves. There were maps on the table, Javan. Maps of other lands—as if they were preparing for war.”
“Surely the neighboring lands are your allies, friends of yours!”
Rogan nodded. “But they may fear me and not Rohain. They want to test his sack and how effectively he can use it. The fact that he may have an heir in his wife’s belly is no sign of achievement. Dogs have workable cocks, Javan.”
“True enough, sire.” Javan saw Zenata suppress a grin.
Akibeel returned with a small clay bowl, filled with dry sage. He placed the bowl on the floor and produced a flint. Soon, thin lines of grey smoke drifted from the burning sage. Akibeel left again.
Rogan patted the ground next to him and nodded at Zenata and Asenka. “No sense sitting over there. If you intend to join forces with this old man and his nephew, then join us. Bring your warriors, too. It will not be the first time I have lain with more than one woman at the same time.”
Asenka said, “Never dream of trying to lay down with me, old fool.”
Rogan chuckled. “I’d sooner lay down with a demon. It would be hotter, no?”
Javan offered Zenata a spot beside him. “Certainly not the first time that event would have happened, aye sire?”
Akibeel returned again and stripped off his garments, standing naked before his guests. The lodge filled with smoke. The servants lowered rawhide straps from the ceiling. The straps had sharp bones on the end of them. Rogan and Javan watched in silence as servants inserted these bony spikes under the muscle and tendons in Akibeel’s pectoral area. Another servant used a stone knife to make several small cuts on the shaman’s back. More of the thongs were then inserted into the wounds. Akibeel did not make a sound through the entire process.
“He can take pain, at least,” Rogan said with admiration. “I am impressed.”
Slowly, Akibeel was raised from the ground. He moaned as the thongs pulled tight, and screamed in agony as his chest pointed up to the ceiling. Drumming began outside the lodge, surrounding them. Rogan panicked, believing the drums to be a signal of attack, but the servants made no move towards him. They simply held the straps taut, chanting with a low and monotonous rhythm. Akibeel screamed again. Then, the mutant with the single eye drew near to Rogan and Javan. Asenka and Zenata jumped up, their hands on their weapons. The one-eyed apprentice came closer. Rogan could smell his sour breath. The deformed servant grinned; a long thread of drool hung from his bottom lip.
Cursing, Rogan drew his sword.
“Put it away, barbarian.”
The deep voice belonged to Akibeel. Rogan was shocked to learn that he could now understand him. But his voice—his tone—had changed. It was guttural. Unnatural. Booming. The silver hairs on Rogan’s arms stood up.
Javan knew that it wasn’t the shaman who spoke. It was something else, using his voice. He addressed Akibeel’s suspended form. “Who are you?”
Akibeel glanced over his shoulder. His face was drenched in sweat. His eyes were pure white. The pupils had rolled back in his skull. A glow rippled over his body.
“I speak through this man to encourage you to ascend to the top of the mountain.”
“And who are you that I should be so honored?” Rogan sneered, hand still on his sword. “You’re not Akibeel. That much is certain. Am I a dog that I should
go piss when you say so? What is your name?”
“Names have power, barbarian, and I have many of them. I am one of those who observes the Earth and guards it. You may call me the Doorkeeper.”
“Yes,” Rogan grumbled. “And I bear the mark of Cain on my ass!”
“Do not mock me.”
Rogan persisted. “You say that you guard the Earth. If that is so, then why have you let this evil thing loose on the world? You do a piss poor duty, I must say.”
Blood dripped from Akibeel’s wounds. The straps pulled taut.
“My kind let nothing free. Your kind called on the murky depths and they answered with eldritch force. We are not God nor can we be everywhere in the cosmos at once. Look here at what is happening.”
The flesh of the shaman’s stomach glowed orange and then became transparent. They could see the twisted guts inside. Then, his intestines and other organs vanished. A swirl of images appeared. Everyone in the lodge grew dizzy as they watched, yet they could not tear their gaze away. The vision was like a moving picture, showing many primitive, subhuman ape-like men with reddish fur covering their bodies. They flowed from the mouth of a cavern in a glacial mountainside.
“I’ve heard of such creatures in the ancient of days,” Rogan murmured. “This is madness for us to be seeing such a thing.”
“Look,” cried Zenata, squeezing Javan’s arm. “There is Amazarak’s lodge.”
The scene now showed a pyramidal shaped building. It looked much like the one they currently stood in, but it was larger and solid black. Dimly, they saw a group of Kennebeck slaves behind the lodge. Each man’s skin was covered in horrid blisters and they were hideously deformed—much worse than the folk in the village. Then the image blurred.
Javan shivered. “Listen. Do the rest of you hear it?”
From Akibeel’s belly came the sound of supplication. Another scene appeared. Amazarak stood at the mouth of another series of caves. He looked enough like Akibeel to be his brother, Javan thought. He even wore a wolfish headdress. Out of the caves bounded more of the red-furred creatures. They ravaged female captives staked out spread eagle for them. Javan wondered how any of the women survived such copulations. To be impregnated in such an unspeakable manner was too horrifying to think about. The image then changed again.
