When Jackals Storm the Walls

by Bradley P. Beaulieu

  The god loped over the sand, eating the distance at an alarming rate.

  “Stop him!” Ihsan bellowed, putting power into the command. “Prepare the ballistae and crossbows. Lay bolts of ebon steel in the channels.”

  Ihsan had seen Goezhen only once before, on the night of Beht Ihman, and he’d never forgotten the sinking feeling in his gut when the dark god had regarded him with those jaundiced eyes. They’d taken him in from head to toe, hungrily yet patiently, as if Goezhen knew he would one day taste the flesh of Kings.

  Those same feelings resurfaced as Goezhen lengthened his strides into a sprint. His crown of thorns, thick around his curving ram’s horns, glistened in the morning light as the first ballista bolt flew. The bolt flew truly, but Goezhen merely lifted one hand and it shattered against his palm.

  “I said bolts of ebon steel!” Ihsan cried.

  A second bolt flew from the other ship, but missed, hurtling just above the dark god’s horns. The ballistae’s mechanisms clanked as the crews worked feverishly to reload them. Soldiers in white crowded the gunwales. A flock of crossbow bolts released with sharp twangs. With a flick of his twin tails, the sand lifted before Goezhen and fouled the bolts’ aim. They flew high overhead, the dark streaks of their passage curving like pen strokes, and were lost in the desert beyond.

  On Goezhen came, running in a half-crouch, arms spread wide, clawed fingers flexing. Ihsan found it almost impossible to look away, but he did, casting his gaze over the harbor’s curving length instead.

  He saw no riders. No Çeda with her sword held high.

  He’d planned it all so carefully. He’d been sure that if he could lead them to this moment, it would give them the greatest chance of seeing Nalamae awaken. But now his certainty was fading faster than a guttering candle. Ihsan could feel the pounding of Goezhen’s cloven hooves. He could hear the dark god’s ragged breath. The hair on Ihsan’s arms and neck stood high, not from fear, but the sheer potency of the god storming down on them.

  Only one more ballista bolt managed to fly before Goezhen reached them. In a small miracle, it managed to clip his shoulder. Black blood flew. Goezhen reared back with a long growl of pain, then leaned into his charge and sent one shoulder against the offending galleon. The blow was so thunderous the prow shattered and the entire ship pivoted on its skimwood skis. The crew tumbled to the deck. Some fell overboard. One was lost when Goezhen crushed him with a mighty stomp on his renewed charge toward The Wayward Miller.

  Soldiers flooded from the nearby lighthouses. Some aimed with crossbows and let fly. Others engaged with swords and spears. But Goezhen was a terror. One tail wrapped around a man’s neck and used him as a flail. After throwing the unfortunate man into a squad of Silver Spears, Goezhen swept an arm across their front line, sending many hurtling through the air. In a matter of moments, two dozen were reduced to a handful.

  Goezhen laughed at their dread. He grabbed two fistfuls of the Miller’s rigging and used them to pull himself up to the foredeck where Husamettín, with a roar and a mighty, two-handed swing of his shamshir, cut deep into Goezhen’s thigh. Goezhen roared in pain. He tried to swipe at Husamettín, but the King of Swords dodged the powerful blow.

  Cahil slipped in behind him, a shield and his bright war hammer in hand. As he delivered a pair of hammer blows, Husamettín leapt from the deck down to the sand, narrowly missing a smash from Goezhen’s fists.

  Zeheb, still much thinner than he once was, charged forward holding two shields with spikes in their center and steel-tipped horns to either side. Before he could engage, however, Goezhen crouched and placed one massive hand flat against the foredeck.

  Cahil managed to strike one more blow with his hammer before the decking began to rip free. All around Goezhen, boards curled, snapped, broke in an expanding wave. Crewmen, equipment, and Kings alike were lifted and sent flying. The sound was calamitous. When the wave reached Ihsan near the ship’s stern, he found himself tumbling through the air in an arc that revealed sky then sand then sky again.

  He landed hard. The wind whooshed from his lungs as pain spread along his back and right hip. Stars filled his vision as he rolled over, spit grit from his mouth, and pushed himself up to his knees. By then Goezhen was standing amidships. The entire upper deck of their cutter had been torn away, as had much of the starboard hull, revealing the cabin where Varal was tied to a bunk. She screamed as Goezhen stepped down into the belly of the ship. The inspector, the one with the mug of kahve, was inexplicably there as well. He must have retreated into the ship for sanctuary.

  Goezhen gripped the inspector’s head and sent him pinwheeling—the inspector, his mug, and the kahve all flying in different directions.

  As Goezhen returned his attention to Varal, Ihsan shouted, “Lord of Darkness, leave her be!” He poured as much of himself into that command as he ever had, but it seemed to have no effect whatsoever.

  Goezhen was just reaching for Varal when an arrow flew in. It sunk into his forearm, tapping a flow of black blood that burst into the hot desert air.

  As Goezhen ripped the arrow free, another punched into his shoulder. Ihsan turned, still dazed, to find four women on three horses riding at a breakneck pace toward the wounded god. Çeda rode the lead horse with Sümeya mounted behind her. Timing her moves with the rhythmic sway of the horse’s movements, Sümeya lifted herself onto the horse’s rump. Steadying herself using Çeda’s shoulders, she launched herself high through the air toward The Wayward Miller’s stern.

  Ihsan stared in wonder as she flew over the transom and landed on the quarterdeck. Losing none of her speed, she somersaulted down through the yawning chasm Goezhen’s spell had created in the ship’s deck and hull. Blocking a tail lash with her shamshir, she landed inside the cabin, beside Varal.

  Despite the threat Sümeya represented, Goezhen focused his attention on Çeda. She’d slipped off the saddle in an easy move and come to rest before the god.

  “Goezhen!” she cried.

  She stood like a hero of old, her tattooed right hand held high, her fingers splayed wide. Goezhen dropped down to the sand and stared, transfixed. Ihsan felt it too, a well of power that was somehow, improbably, centered on Çeda’s right hand.

  Then, in a blur of movement, Çeda switched hands. Her right hand snapped down while her left hand, gripping something small and round, shot upward. Gods of blood and stone, it looked like an eye.

  Goezhen seemed suddenly afraid. He roared and raised one arm while spinning away, as if acid had been sprayed into his face. He stomped one hoof, and a wave lifted up, rolling toward Çeda, the sand spraying high, the effect widening as it traveled.

  The brawny Kameyl, riding a horse of her own, was galloping hard and fast toward Çeda. When she whistled a series of notes, Çeda spun, the two of them locked arms, and Kameyl swung Çeda up and into the saddle behind her.

  Ihsan thought they might actually avoid the wave, but it was too fast. It hissed as it flew and crashed into Çeda, Kameyl, and their horse, sending them all flying. Ihsan saw others caught in the same powerful wave, and then it reached him. Sand scoured. Stones cut. A sound like a mountain tumbling down filled Ihsan’s senses as he was thrown backward.

  For many long breaths, the only thing Ihsan could hear was a high-pitched ringing. He had trouble remembering which way to face. But then the world began to settle, the dust started to clear, and the sounds of battle returned.

  As Husamettín, Çeda, and Cahil engaged the god of chaos, Ihsan’s attention was drawn to Varal. No longer on the ship, she lay on the sand. Sümeya was helping her to her feet, but something had caught Varal’s attention: a small round object on the sand nearby. It was the eye Çeda had been holding. She must have dropped it when Goezhen’s wall of sand struck her.

  Varal picked it up and stared at it in pure, unadulterated wonder, as if the eye held the answers to all her questions and more. Suddenly her body tightened, h
er head tilted back, and she released a long, soul-rending howl that made Ihsan quiver just to hear it.

  Beyond her, Goezhen backhanded Cahil, sending him and his hammer flying into the hull of the galleon. As Cahil fell limp to the sand, Goezhen rounded on Husamettín while one of his tails wrapped around Kameyl’s ankle and flung her away. Husamettín staggered, his hand pressed to his throat from a noxious breath that issued from Goezhen’s mouth.

  As Husamettín fell to one knee, Goezhen rounded on Çeda, who’d just struck a deep blow to his calf. She retreated, but suddenly slowed, her legs sinking deep into the sand. She looked up fearfully as Goezhen lifted both hands high.

  “No!” Ihsan cried, sprinting forward, but he was too late.

  Goezhen brought his fists down onto Çeda’s braced form. As his fists struck, Çeda’s body turned to stone and shattered, the pieces spraying outward like a vase dropped onto hard tile.

  A moment later, far beyond Goezhen, a swirling column of sand formed. From it, Çeda reappeared in the same position she’d been in when Goezhen struck, her arms still held high as if she were bracing for the blow. She stared about with a bewildered expression.

  Goezhen, meanwhile, seemed to sense the battle had changed. He spun toward the woman who was once Varal. She was Varal no longer, though. Or not entirely so. Now she was Nalamae reborn.

  For a moment, no one dared move. Nalamae, a hungry look on her face, strode toward the god of chaos. Goezhen roared and charged. Nalamae charged as well while holding up one hand. Cahil’s hammer, which had fallen to the sand beside him, streaked golden through the air and flew into her waiting palm.

  What happened next would be seared into Ihsan’s memory until his dying day. Nalamae leapt toward Goezhen, while Goezhen swept a clawed hand to fend her off. He did it too slowly, though, and Nalamae brought the golden hammer across his prominent jaw. Light burst from the point of impact, and a boom shook the desert.

  Back Goezhen flew, stumbling, dazed. Onto the wrecked cutter he fell, but he was not defenseless. One tail lashed out and cracked like a whip. From the point of impact, an arc of seething darkness sped toward Nalamae. The goddess lifted Cahil’s hammer in both hands and held it against the darkness like a talisman. A brightness emanated from it, blinding to look upon. The arc spread to either side of her and tore swordlike cuts into the hull of the galleon’s stern behind her. Where the light shone brightest, however, the darkness dissipated.

  With a mighty shout, Nalamae spun and threw the hammer. It sped in a streak of golden light and struck Goezhen at the base of one great, sweeping horn. There came a brittle snapping sound, a thunderous impact, and the horn sheared away.

  As the hammer flew back to Nalamae’s waiting palm, Goezhen stared in shock and fear, and then, like ash giving way to a sudden, stiff wind, his skin began to crack, to flake away. Nalamae released a great cry and heaved the hammer again. It struck true, flying swift as the sun into the center of Goezhen’s chest.

  His remains were blasted into a great cloud of dark ash, which fluttered down toward the sand like leaves. Slowly it dissipated, fading to nothing, and everyone understood.

  Goezhen was gone.

  Chapter 30

  ÇEDA STARED AT THE WRECKAGE of the Kings’ cutter. At the broken galleon near it. At the woman named Varal who had somehow, improbably, become the goddess reborn.

  Nalamae, Çeda thought. She’s Nalamae now.

  The woman who was once Varal stared at her hands, turning them over, again and again, as if she couldn’t understand what was happening.

  “Keep the Kings away,” Çeda said to Sümeya, then went to the goddess.

  Nalamae lifted her head slowly. “How can it be?” she asked, for all the world a mortal woman, a child of Sharakhai who’d forged a life from that beautiful, sometimes cruel place.

  Çeda felt for her—her life, her very identity, had been stolen by a goddess and she hadn’t a clue how to get it back. “The goddess needed a new form.”

  “Well she can’t have mine!”

  She looked so lost and forlorn, Çeda stepped forward and embraced her. “I’m sorry that it’s happened, but it has happened, and you have a purpose.”

  “What purpose?”

  “We all want the freedom to live our lives as we see fit. We want to watch our children grow. We want to be with the ones we love. We want peace. But those things are not given. They’re won by the edge of a blade. That is your fate now, to help us win these things for the people of the desert.”

  For a time, Nalamae was stiff in Çeda’s arms, her own arms limp, but then she slipped her hands around Çeda, held her tight, and began to weep.

  “Don’t despair,” Çeda whispered while rubbing her back. “You’re not alone. And there’s hope yet. The acacia waits. Let’s go and find what it wishes to tell us. Then we’ll see if we can’t reunite you with your family.”

  “My family . . .” Nalamae sniffed and pulled away. She glanced around at the Silver Spears, to the waiting Kings, at the others who’d come to witness the battle with Goezhen. Then she stared in wonder at Sharakhai, that hive of humanity. “My family is a bit larger than I’d realized.”

  Çeda smiled. “If only more came to know that, the world would be a better place.”

  Nalamae suddenly laughed. It was such a pure, genuine moment that Çeda laughed with her.

  Sümeya had her sword out and had so far managed to prevent the Kings from approaching, but Ihsan was clearly impatient.

  “If you’re quite done,” Ihsan called, “I rather think we should be moving on.”

  Çeda ignored him, taking in the situation. Two ships ruined. Dozens dead or wounded. Scores more watching her exchange with the goddess. She pointed to their horses, which were, miraculously, still alive, and led Nalamae toward one of them. “Mount up.” They would ride to the Red Bride and set sail as soon as they possibly could.

  “I can’t let you do that,” Ihsan said, following them toward the horses.

  “I won’t let you stop me, Ihsan”—Çeda gripped her right hand, summoning the pain, and the power of the desert that came with it—“not this time.”

  Despite her words, Ihsan continued to close the distance, stopping only when Çeda had drawn River’s Daughter and pointed it at his chest. “Please.” He raised both hands, palms facing outward in a sign of peace. “We have common cause.”

  “Common cause?” She lifted the tip of her shamshir until it was inches from his face. “You dare say that to me after what you did to Osman? After what you’ve done to countless others?”

  By then, Cahil was standing to Ihsan’s right, his hammer gripped easily in one hand. Husamettín, Zeheb, and Yndris had moved in along Ihsan’s left. Sümeya, Kameyl, and Jenise, meanwhile, stood behind Çeda with swords drawn.

  “You all look ridiculous,” Cahil bristled. “Put your swords away before I lose my temper.”

  Çeda had already taken a step forward when Ihsan placed himself between the two of them. “Lower your sword, Çeda. I know you’re angry, but I beg you to listen to reason.”

  Çeda laughed. “The time for reason has passed, Ihsan. Now get out of my way before I cut you down.”

  “I can’t let you do that.” When she tried to move past him, he moved quickly, always sure to keep himself between Çeda and Cahil. “Çedamihn, it was prophecy.”

  Çeda couldn’t believe her ears. “The Kings have used many excuses for their crimes. Now you would use prophecy?”

  “This was all seen by Yusam, written in his journals. And he saw plenty more, things you need to know about. Things you need to act upon.”

  “Fuck you.” Çeda swiped her sword in the air, forcing him to back up. “And fuck your prophecy!”

  “This was preordained.”

  “No it wasn’t! None of it was, don’t you see? The mere. Yusam’s visions.” She glanced at Nalamae. “The visi
ons from Nalamae’s tree. They are but glimpses into possible futures. You had a choice to make, and whether you acknowledge it or not, you made one.” She flicked River’s Daughter toward Cahil. “As did he. Now it’s time for him to pay.”

  “You speak of possible futures? Yusam saw many things, Çeda. He saw Sharakhai ruined. He saw every man, woman, and child dead. We must take the utmost care that it doesn’t come to pass. All depends on it. Not just me and you.” He waved to the others. “Not just them. But everyone you’ve ever known. Emre. Davud. His sister the bread baker. Seyhan the spice monger. Ibrahim the storyteller. Even that girl you used to train, Mala. Everyone, Çeda. They all depend on us.” He took a step toward her and lowered his voice. “I found a path for us to follow. A path that saves everyone. Don’t you see? We must follow it.”

  The concern in his voice was plain. Ihsan was a man who schemed, a man who hoped to rule Sharakhai alone. He’d been making moves to do so for generations at least, perhaps centuries. But in this she judged he was being earnest. He genuinely wanted to save Sharakhai and its people. That didn’t mean he’d found the right path, though. He’d gone too far. Cahil had gone too far.

  Ihsan, perhaps sensing her doubt, spoke low. “Don’t make me compel you.”

  Çeda’s right hand flared with pain and a heat like she’d plunged it in boiling water. The sensation traveled up her arm to her heart, and all the anger from moments ago returned. “Wrong choice of words, Ihsan.” She pointed River’s Daughter at his eye. “You don’t threaten me. You hear me? You don’t threaten me ever again.”

  Suddenly, Nalamae was beside her. She touched Çeda’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for Osman. Truly I am. But perhaps he’s right. We don’t have to sail together. We have two sound ships. Let’s take them to the valley, as you said. Let me receive whatever visions the acacia wishes to share. Then we’ll see what future awaits the Kings of Sharakhai.”

  For a moment Çeda could only breathe, could only listen to the rush of blood in her ears. She knew the goddess was right. She knew it. Yet she wanted to forsake it all to wipe the smug smile from Cahil’s face and see the light in his eyes fade. Shivering with rage, she threw River’s Daughter to the sand. Then she screamed, which did nothing to quell the frustration that seethed within her chest.