by Jon Kiln
“Of course. I never went away, despite your every attempt to kill yourself. Who do you think was making your body heal so very effectively? Who made your hand strike true with that guard when you were tired and exhausted?”
Vekal frowned. He was feeling a lot better—and his aches and pains were starting to diminish with every moment in the devil’s company. I know what you told the old woman. I know that you offered her my life in return for your freedom, he told Ikrit. I should have let her take you.
“All a ploy, my little Sin Eater. Gosh, do you have no faith in anything?” A sickening chuckle, like the crackle of burning skin. “I needed to free you from them, and to do that I needed to offer them something. They were just going to kill you, or leave you in the desert, if I hadn’t spoken to the old woman while you were healing.”
“Hmph.” Vekal grumbled. Well, we might as well make the most of what we have. This Devil’s Bane. What is it? What does it do? he asked the creature.
There was a rattling, disgusted hiss inside of him from Ikrit. “Pffft! It is one of the holy plants. An abomination! It is a travesty, and only weakens you. Where would you be now, without me to help you fight and to keep your body together? Who is working to heal you even now? Me! Ikrit is.”
Vekal nodded to himself. The demon was afraid of the herb. So there was at least something about what the old gypsy woman had said which was indeed true. Vekal looked over to where Suriyen was walking beside young Talon, her arm over his shoulder companionably, although the Sin Eater thought that it was more for the boy’s benefit than hers.
“She has the herb. It is a threat to us,” Ikrit said. “You will have to get her to give it to you, and then we can destroy it.’”
Why? Vekal wondered. Because you fear that she will dose me up with it, silencing you?
“Gah! Foolish meat-sack,” the devil hissed, and suddenly a wave of pain swept through the Sin Eater’s body, spreading from the middle of his back down. He gave a strangled, small cry as he hit the rough dirt floor, his legs cramping and his knees twitching in agony.
“Vekal!” he heard Talon shout, and the sound of hurrying footsteps.
“You see what I can do, you ingrate?” Ikrit purred into his ear. “Were it not for me and my presence, you’d be crippled right now. That arrow nicked two of your vertebrae. I bet you don’t even know what those are, do you?”
Vekal groaned, as Talon and Suriyen stopped down to his side.
“They are the bones in your spine, like links in a chain. If they twist, turn out of place, or just move slightly…” Another wave of pain throbbed down his back, bringing tears to Vekal’s eyes.
“And you can be paralyzed for life. You should be dead now, and unable to walk, but I am keeping you alive, keeping the pain at bay, and seeking to heal your body. Although by the seven hells, I have no idea why. Just consider what your life will be like if you sought to silence me forever.”
“Okay! Okay, I promise,” Vekal spat into the dirt.
“Promise what?” Talon was saying, as he felt a moistened, cool cloth placed to his brow.
“Come on, get him up.” Suriyen’s louder, angrier voice. “It’ll be some pocket of the infection within him. I’ve seen such things before. Too much stress on a wounded body and it is in danger of falling ill again.”
“Good. Make sure you remember that,” Ikrit hissed and withdrew, taking the terrible pain with him. Vekal felt weakened and shaky in its aftermath. His body was tender, as if frightened of what the treacherous flesh might do next.
“Here, lean on me,” Talon was saying, helping him up to his feet. Vekal felt the twinge in his back, but the pain was gone completely. Instead of feeling happy, however, he looked at his wobbly legs with suspicion. Should they be able to do even this now? Is he only causing himself further damage?
But the boy at his side was incorrigibly optimistic. “Come, we’re not far.” He was tugging gently on Vekal’s bound and mummy-wrapped hands. “Look, the city of Fuldoon!”
Vekal blinked away the last of the pained tears to see that they had arrived at the edge of the scrub, and ahead of them there flowed a large, placid, slow river. On this side there was a collection of tents, warehouses, and odd makeshift markets and shanty towns. On the other side, however, across a bridge that floated in the water on the backs of six large galleon-type vessels, sat a city wall.
Vekal had never been to another city before. He looked in awe at the walls that rose many stories in the air, made of yellowing desert stone. Towers and battlements interspersed the town, and from the bottom of the walls there seemed to be deep arches, from which, even this early in the morning, there emerged barges and low craft to begin the day’s trade.
The desert was behind them, and they had arrived at the edge—or the start—of the world.
15
Fuldoon was a big place by Tir standards, and Vekal soon found himself feeling overwhelmed by all that he saw happening around him. He didn’t know it, but as a matter of fact, Fuldoon was large by the standards of the entire south of the world, it being one of the largest open trade cities on the southern coast of the Inner Sea. Known as a somewhat raucous, somewhat barbarous place where the law of the purse and of the knife often won over the law of any court, Fuldoon was nevertheless essential in world trade. It allowed access to and from the great southern desert, and to one of the few land routes to the Iron Pass.
The Sin Eater, having studied many of the old scrolls and the books of Tir’an’fal for a long time, knew all of these facts, of course. He knew that Fuldoon was run by a council, said to be one of the most powerful organizations this side of the Inner Sea, who kept a complicated system of loans, loyalties, and debts with most of the world. He knew the facts of Fuldoon’s history, and he had read the reports and the rumors of pirate collusion.
None of this knowledge even came close to preparing him for the experience of being there, though. A cacophony of voices assaulted him.
“Harris Crabs! Three for a guillion!”
“Last call! Red Boat to Seamouth!”
“Gundadam spices? Taste before you buy!”
“Workers needed! Everyone able-bodied hired!”
“Clean beds for the night! Best establishment in town!”
“How dare you! Get your hands off of me!”
Vekal felt turned around and bowled over by it all. He felt like he was drowning as people pushed and shoved themselves up against him, pushing him out of the way or saying things in dialects and languages that he didn’t understand.
There were old faces and young, different colors and different creeds, some with tattoos and piercings, others with face paint. Head-dresses like triangles of cloth from some vague eclectic cult, to the cloth caps of the sailors and dock workers. Vekal had never been surrounded by so many living, smiling, scowling, angry, and bored people before in his life. He felt like all of the world must already be contained here.
“Vekal!” It was Suriyen, already separated from him but reaching back. Her gauntleted hand looked like salvation to him as she thrust it between the early morning crowds at the gate and grabbed his arm. Her other arm was curled protectively around Talon, hugging him to her body as she pushed her way through the crowds.
Another few more minutes, during which time they followed the wake of a small company of burly dock workers carrying large crates of something sweet and floral smelling, and Suriyen pulled them down a wide side street where she paused, panting.
“How does anyone stand it,” Vekal was gasping. “And it is so early, too. Is it always like this?”
“Pretty much.” Suriyen laughed, shaking her head. “But it can be a bit much for a first timer.” She cast a worried look over both of her charges. Talon, for all of his recent trials and tribulations, looked as though he had become re-energized by the experience, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s the fish markets,” she continued. “It’s always busy when the night catch comes in.” She breathed, smoothed her jerkin, and laughed at the loo
k on Vekal’s face. “Yeah. Fresh fish. I bet that you don’t have that out there in the desert, huh?”
Vekal shook his head, grinning like a fool despite himself. Tir was a somber city by anyone’s standards, and especially so compared to Fuldoon. It was the sacred city of the gods, the most ancient necropolis from which thousands, millions, of people had come and gone over the years. But now, to Vekal, it almost felt like a dead place.
“Ha! Yes! This is heaven compared to it, is it not?” Ikrit slid up to his mind.
No, not heaven. That would be sacrilegious, Vekal thought, chastising himself. I must remember what I am. One of the dead and undying. In this world but not of it. I belong somewhere else…
“But it is tantalizing, is it not?” the devil purred at him, turning his head to look back at the main open gates that they had pressed through.
The main gates were a large drawbridge of wooden planks, lowered down to form a link with the first moored bridge-boat. From it, people were still streaming, as well as numerous lifters, carriers, sherpas, carts, and wagons. The city was getting fed every morning, and most of it seemed to be coming directly from the river outside.
On the inside of the drawbridge, there extended lines of warehouses and taverns and side streets like the ones they were in. And on the inside of that was a vast square space, bigger than the entire footprint of the Tower of Records. Tables and markets were strung out in rows or cobbled together wherever they could, and they were selling their wares at a furious rate.
“All of those people. All of that life… The world is good, is it not?” Ikrit purred some more. Vekal felt suddenly confused. How small his life had been before coming here! Even with teaching and training such as his—able to recite the hundred names of Annwn, to speak fluent in many languages—and yet he had no idea how to deal with what he saw in front of him right now.
“It could all be yours, Sin Eater. All you have to do is trust me,” the devil was saying, just as he was interrupted.
“Vekal! Did you hear me? At all?” Suriyen raised her eyebrows at him.
“Oh, sorry. A bit overwhelmed, I think,” he said, risking a smile. Even that felt vaguely sacrilegious. But surely out here, in this place of heathenry and idolatry, the gods expected it?
“I said, the gypsies whom I worked for will probably be here by midday. And that means that we have to get to the Council as quickly as possible. They have many friends and family here, and they could raise the alarm at… what happened…”
At the murder, you mean? Vekal frowned. To him, the actions that they had taken had been necessary, the sort of actions that the gods would have approved of, surely.
But maybe the gods do not get such a free reign out here as they do back in Tir. He suddenly became worried. “The Council?” he asked.
“Yes.” Suryien nodded. “But first we all probably need something substantial to eat, rest, and to get washed up. Even in a city of thieves and brigands like Fuldoon, it pays to look presentable when talking to the Council.”
Vekal’s frown deepened into a scowl. Seeing it, the boy at his side laughed.
“You look like you just walked out of the desert, mummy!” Talon said.
Vekal looked down at his rags and wrappings. Large, almost diaphanous robes wound and covered with leather and cotton straps similar to those used to bind the dead. It was their way of reminding themselves of what they were, as well as protecting their body and hiding many numerous tools. “What’s wrong with this?” he mumbled.
Now it was Suriyen’s turn to suppress a smirk. “Let us hope that you don’t find out just yet, Sin Eater. Come on, this way.”
She turned down the side street, pointing in the direction deeper into the city.
16
Despite Suriyen’s wishes, it seemed as though the party was not so lucky as to pass unnoticed. They had barely wound their way past a few streets before they started to hear mutterings from some of the shop keepers and pedestrians that they passed.
“Sin Eater!” one person hissed in surprise.
“Keep walking,” Suriyen said, not that Vekal had even paid them any heed at all.
Seeing Talon’s slightly more worried glance at the others, Vekal put a hand on his shoulder. “Do not worry, Talon. I am not upset, and neither should you be. It is common for people to hate what they do not understand.”
The guard striding a few steps ahead of them, however, seemed to have different ideas. “You may be used to it, Vekal, but the people around here are not used to having a Sin Eater wandering through their streets. They think that you will steal their souls and raise the dead.”
“What?” Vekal almost laughed. “What craziness do these people believe?”
“Actually…” Talon swallowed nervously. “It is what everyone thinks of your kind. It is what the gypsies thought. That the priests of Tir cavorted with devils and slept with the dead and raised their shades.”
Vekal felt himself blushing in shame at the slur. How could the rest of the world be so stupid? “I see,” he said, his jaw clenching as he tried to control his temper.
Suriyen led them through the side streets, which at the end of the walled city were lined with many coffee houses, taverns, and shops. The buildings were all carved out of the soft yellow desert stone, or else made from mud brick and wood panels. They could see that it was a prosperous place, or at least a very busy one.
Occasionally, they would pass a small fountain, or a tiny courtyard with one tree growing in its center. Vekal wondered where all of the statues of the gods were and why he could not see them. Looking up, he saw the glare of the southern sun through a haze of smoke; camp fires, cook houses, incense and all of the fog of a busy city. He could not hear the birds on the wing, nor the distant desert winds.
“Sin Eater!” someone shouted, and Vekal turned just in time as something sailed past his head, and bounced off the wall behind. A rock. The man who had thrown it was large, pinkish, with a blood-smeared apron, who from the smell of him seemed to be the owner of the nearby butcher’s shop.
“Get out and stay out!” the butcher shouted, slapping his large meaty fists together. “I’ll not have your dead claws near my meat!”
Fool, Vekal thought, ready to turn around and continue on his way, when something hit him on the back with a sharp sting of pain. Another rock.
Ikrit hissed inside of him, and Vekal found himself echoing it with his own grimacing teeth at the new attacker. It was the baker from across the street, a similarly portly proprietor, but much shorter and with tanned skin.
“Yeah, and stay away from my breads and my customers, too. You’ll get no solace here, fiend,” the baker said. Around them there was a scattering of ribald cheers from the burlier looking customers, all of whom had seen Vekal coming and had appeared to have urged the two local ‘toughs’ to do something about it.
“I’m warning you, devil,” the butcher said, pointing a fat finger at him.
“Vekal…” Suriyen said warningly. “Leave it. We’re not far now.”
Vekal and Ikrit together hissed once more, but were about to comply with Suriyen’s request when the baker had to say his next insult.
“And take those two other little freaks with you. A little family of sin!”
Vekal folded himself into his rage. The only two people who had showed him any kindness were Suriyen and Talon. Something turned his body around and was marching his legs forward. In his rage, Vekal and Ikrit seemed to bond.
“Hey, now—” the baker had a chance to say, his face blanching a second before Vekal’s hand struck out and seized the portly baker by the throat, and, with apparent ease, lifted him off the floor and high into the air. Onlookers gasped, and one woman screamed.
“Would you like me to tell you about sin, little man?” Vekal said. The man inside did not know who was speaking the words, or where they came from. But he found them pouring out of him anyway.
“Would you like me to tell you of the seven hells below our feet? And of
all of the things that happen there? Of the tortures that Yshaddarak the Unclean reserves for little men like you?”
Vekal had no idea who Yshaddarak was, but even the word cast a heavy bruise over his mind.
“You see, he hates hypocrites, liars, and pompous, little men. He hates those who try to raise themselves up above everyone else. He likes everyone to know just how little their heart is inside.”
Vekal found himself drawing the half choking man down to his eye level. “He peels them like an orange, looking for what makes them believe they are so great. He rummages. He paws. He looks for anything that might be large, and so powerful as to warrant such an attitude as you have. When he is done, he leaves you on a rock, where you, still alive, have to endure everyone coming to look at you, spread out and flayed on the rocks of the fifth hell. And then, every night your body is restored to you, and every day he starts again. So, the question that you really have to ask yourself is…”
At this, Vekal raised his other free hand, and very slowly, very purposefully prodded the fat little baker hard in the chest. “What do you have inside of you? Shall we take a look together, you and I?”
“Vekal!” It was Suriyen, her hand upon his arm, and with her nearness a strange cooling sensation, like the wash of a calming oasis pool. Vekal spluttered and, immediately feeling his arm tense with the agony of holding the baker upright, he dropped the fat man.
“The weed! The hurt!” He felt Ikrit recoiling deeper into him as it tried to get away from the Devil’s Bane that Suriyen must be carrying on her body. It was enough to bring Vekal back to his senses. He was shocked at what he had done, but he wasn’t sorry for it at all.
“Vekal, come,” Suriyen said, casting a wary eye over the gathering crowd. “I think you’ve said enough here.” She turned and led him and Talon out of the street, ignoring the tide of mutterings and curses that started as soon as they were leaving.
“What in the name of all of the sand, Sin Eater,” Suriyen gasped at him, clearly furious. “After that display everyone will think that you do raise the dead. We’ll be lucky if we don’t get lynched before nightfall.”
