The Venom of Luxur

by J. Steven York

  Teferi hesitated.

  “Go on! It cannot harm you. You are Zimwi-msaka. You are the only one who can use it!”

  Teferi lifted the stick from the box.

  It was almost as long as his arm, the knots and shape of the original limb still visible, though it had been stripped of bark, polished, and intricately carved with tiny pictograms. It was heavy enough, and solid enough, it could have been used as a club, but somehow that did not seem to be its function.

  “Yesterday, when I was sparring with Anok, I picked up a piece of wood, about this size and shape, to use as a weapon. Do you think that means something?”

  Sabé pursed his lips, thinking. “It is possible. Now that you know your true nature, I think your instincts are guiding you in ways you do not yet understand.”

  He looked the stick, shaking it. Some part of it had been hollowed out, and it made a soft, rattling sound as he moved it. The beads and decorations clattered together musically. It was a pleasing sound. “But this is not a weapon, is it?”

  “Not in the sense that you mean. The texts say it is called a Kotabanzi. It is a ‘dream stick.’ If a person’s mind is troubled by evil, he can invite a Zimwi-msaka into his dreams, and the Kotabanzi will supposedly let him travel there to deal with it.”

  He looked up in surprise. “You expect me to go into Anok’s dreams? In his present state, why do you think he would even consider inviting me into his dreams?”

  Sabé smiled. “He already invited you into his dreams when first he met me. Do you remember that?”

  Teferi blinked in surprise. “The day we first came to your house. Anok came to see you, and I was dozing in Barid’s carriage outside.”

  “I believed Anok to be an enemy, and we had a battle of minds. He called on many allies in that battle, including you.”

  “That strange dream! It was real?”

  “As real as dreams are”—he turned and started back toward the stairs—“and as dangerous as they can be. There are real dangers in dreams. People die in their sleep every day.”

  Teferi followed him, watchful for more of the big spiders. “But will this even work on me? You said I was immune to magic.”

  “You cannot be harmed by spells intended to harm you directly; nor can you initiate magic yourself. But although the Kotabanzi can be dangerous, its purpose is not to do you harm, and thus you can use it. The magic is already within the stick, a fact of its creation, so you are not precluded from using it in that way, either. This was made by an ancient witch doctor of your people to be used by your kind, and your kind alone.”

  They climbed the stair, where Teferi closed the trapdoor and replaced the chest that hid it. They returned to the courtyard. Teferi put the box on the table and stood with the Kotabanzi in his hand.

  “I wonder,” he said, shaking it, and listening to the soothing sounds, “if Anok is asleep. Can you tell me how to make this thing work?”

  Sabé smiled, seemingly from far away. “I think it is working already.” His voice seemed to echo away into nothing, and Teferi turned. Behind him a flight of stairs climbed up into the sky, over the wall, and up into the stars. The stairs consisted only of the treads, perfectly black, which hung in the air with no apparent means of support.

  He began to climb, higher and higher. Though the black stairs were difficult to see, his footing was sure, and he did not hesitate in his ascent. He was amazed to look down upon the city far below, the many yellow lamps, torches, and fires flicking in warm echo to the blue diamonds that sparkled in the sky above.

  Still he climbed, until the world was small, mountain ranges like anthills, oceans like puddles of quicksilver, and surprisingly, he could see the last pink light of a setting sun far to the west, over a horizon strangely curved, as though the world were like one of Anok’s crystal balls.

  Still he climbed, until the sky was black all around him, and he could not see the stairs at all. It should have come as no surprise when his foot sought the next step, and it was not there.

  13

  TEFERI STUMBLED SLIGHTLY as his feet landed on hard-packed clay. He held up his hand and squinted against the light of the midday sun. The sky around him was deep blue, fading to hazy red near the horizon. The air was cool, dry and thin, and Teferi immediately knew he was on a mountaintop, or somewhere very high.

  He turned, and saw before him a stunning sight. The rim of a canyon, a hundred times larger and steeper than Teferi had ever seen in his travels. He was only a handful of paces from the near lip. The far wall faded with the haze of distant, as though he were looking at a distant mountain range. Colorful stripes of different rocks wrapped around every cliff and tower, like layers in a sweet pastry. Far out over the canyon, a large dark bird, a falcon, or perhaps an eagle, circled lazily.

  Unable to see the bottom of the canyon, he stepped closer, looking cautiously over the edge. He gasped. Far, far below, a narrow blue ribbon of water snaked along the canyon bottom, reflecting both sunlight and sky. He felt that, if he slipped, it might take an hour for him to reach the bottom. It was not, however, something he wished to test.

  Just then somebody ran past him, close enough to brush against his back, and he tottered on the edge, struggling to keep his balance. As he waved his arms, trying to keep from falling, he remembered what Sabé had told him.

  People die in their sleep every day.

  A cascade of pebbles tumbled away down the canyon wall before he was able to step safely back from the edge. He looked over to see who or what had brushed him, and spotted a man running along the lip of the canyon.

  It took him a moment to recognize the man. “Anok!”

  Teferi ran after him. He was taller than Anok, with longer legs, so there was little trouble in closing the distance between them. It was just that Anok had such a head start.

  There was also the matter of caution. Some places, a large, flat plain butted up against the canyon edge, but at other places the path narrowed until it was a shelf little wider than a man’s foot. In those places, Teferi slowed considerably, even then fearing for his life with every step.

  But Anok did not slow. He ran at a steady pace, tireless, his eyes fixed on the far wall of the canyon, even as his feet seemed ever on the verge of slipping and plunging him to his doom.

  As he ran after his friend, Teferi caught a glimpse of the bird in the corner of his eye, and realized it was no longer circling. It was growing larger against the sky.

  Teferi redoubled his pace, keeping his distance from the treacherous edge whenever he could. But ahead, always Anok ran right along the edge, rock crumbling under his feet.

  There was a monstrous screech, and Teferi looked up to see the bird diving toward Anok, black wings wide, and its strange white head now more clearly visible. This was no falcon, no eagle. He could see that it was much bigger, wings spanning at least half a dozen paces, talons large enough to lift a calf—or a man.

  It dived toward Anok, and still he did not see.

  If only I had my bow!

  As if by magic, it was there in his hand, the familiar weight of the quiver on his back. He drew his heaviest iron-tipped arrow, nocked it on the string, pulled back, and took aim. The monster-bird moved very quickly, and he would have only one shot.

  He tracked the thing, letting the string slip from his fingers. The bow snapped, the arrow arched away from him and struck the monster at the base of its neck.

  It screeched, flapped its wings frantically, and flew past Anok.

  As it did, Teferi got a clear look at the monster’s head, and saw that it was not a bird’s head at all. It was the head of Ramsa Aál.

  Even as he ran after Anok, Teferi watched the man-bird warily. It climbed higher, and higher, black wings pumping against the sky. At some point, the arrow fell free, as though it had not truly penetrated at all, but only caught in the monster’s feathers. He saw no wound, no blood.

  Again, it circled, gaining height in preparation for another attack. He had to warn his friend.
“Anok!” He yelled, but Anok did not seem to hear.

  The bird circled higher, then turned for another pass.

  Teferi found another arrow, and already had it nocked in the bow before he realized this attack was not to be against Anok. The monster had turned its attentions on him.

  Worse, the trail was very narrow here. There was no place to stop, no place to stand. He kept moving, kept walking, bow at the ready, as the monster grew larger and larger, heading straight for him.

  Still walking, he drew back his bow, having to trust that his feet would find purchase.

  Closer it came. He could see Ramsa Aál’s face, screaming in fury. He aimed for the mouth. If he could kill the beast, even if he was swept into the canyon, his friend would be saved.

  Closer.

  He drew back the bow. Prepared to shoot. Prepared to die.

  Then an arrow flew in from the side, penetrating the thing’s right wing. It shrieked and veered to one side, missing Teferi, who released his shot.

  He stumbled, the rock giving way beneath his feet. He scrambled for footing, but found none.

  A strong hand grabbed his arm, lifting him back onto the path. He looked at his rescuer. “Anok!”

  Anok looked at him, surprised, his bow still in his hand. “Teferi! What are you doing here?”

  “I came to find you, brother.”

  Anok turned, distracted, looking on up the canyon. “I must go.” The bow was gone, and again, he was running along the canyon rim, this time with Teferi dogging his heels.

  Teferi glanced into the sky. Again the man-bird was climbing. The arrows that seemed to have wounded it were already gone. “It will come again.”

  “It always comes,” said Anok, not looking back. “Again and again. I grow tired of it, but there is little I can do.”

  “Brother, why must you run so close to the edge?”

  “So I can see. You can see so far from the edge, yet not far enough. The answers I seek are over there”—he pointed out across the canyon—“somewhere. I must find a way to get closer, so I keep running.”

  Teferi looked up at the monster-bird. “Brother, it comes again. Step back from the edge. It is a long way to fall.”

  Anok kept to his path. “I will not fall.”

  Teferi looked down over the edge. On a shelf of rock, far below, he could see seen the broken shape of a fallen man lying in a splatter of his own blood, which ran down the side of the rock, dripping into the abyss below. “Brother,” he said, “you have already fallen.”

  ANOK AWOKE WITH a start, sitting up in bed. He was panting, sweating. He looked frantically out the open window into a blue sky: but there was no black shape of a bird there, only few wisps of cloud, and a buzzing bee.

  It was morning. The air was warm, and scented with flowers. The smell made him remember—

  His hand went to the bed next to him, and it was empty, only a rumpled spot where Fallon had been. He threw back the sheets, using a corner of them to wipe the sweat from his naked body, then found a simple tunic and kilt to wear.

  He stepped out into the parlor. The doors into the garden were open. He could hear birds singing. It was a beautiful day, which did nothing to ease his growing sense of dread.

  He found Fallon sitting in a chair at the edge of the garden. She sat as though she had been waiting for him, her face tense, but unreadable. And she was dressed. No, not just dressed. She was dressed for war.

  Garbed in leather and mail, heavy shin guards strapped to her legs, iron bands around her wrists, she leaned forward on the hilt of her sword. She was relaxed in her pose, but something about it suggested she was instantly ready for battle.

  “We need to talk,” she said, “about last night.”

  Her manner made him chuckle nervously. “I thought that was what you wanted.”

  “I wanted to be closer to the man who had won my heart. I am not so sure he was there last night.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You were quite forceful.”

  “It was what you wanted, was it not?”

  “You were forceful, and you would not stop.”

  “You did not want me to stop.”

  “That is not the issue.”

  “You did not want me to stop.”

  “If I had wanted you to stop, I would have stopped you if I had to cut off your manhood and feed it to you. Make no mistake. But that is not the issue either.”

  “Then what is the matter?”

  “If I had told you to stop, would you have stopped yourself?”

  He blinked in surprise. “You didn’t want me to stop!”

  Her voice became louder, more forceful, and she quietly rose to her feet. “Look into your heart! Would you have stopped?”

  He laughed. This had to be a joke!

  But her expression remained deadly serious.

  “Would you have stopped?”

  He licked his lips, thinking. What could she mean? What happened was—

  She took her sword in two hands and lifted it over her shoulder. “Would you have stopped?”

  His breath caught in his throat as the horror of it struck him. His shoulders sagged. She could strike him down now, and he would hardly care. “No,” he said weakly, shocked at his own conclusion. “No.”

  She slowly lowered the sword. “That was the correct answer,” she said. “That was the answer that the Anok I know would have given. If you had lied to me, if you had failed to see your own heart, I do not know what I would have done.”

  He shook his head sadly.

  “I put down a rabid dog once,” she said. “I loved that dog, too.” She smiled slightly but did not relax her grip on the sword.

  “I came to tell you,” he said, “about a dream. Now it makes more sense to me.”

  Just then, Teferi appeared at the garden door. He looked at Anok, then Fallon. “What is going on here?”

  “My brother, I have been shown the error of my ways. I have come to the edge of a great abyss, and even now, I may be falling into its depths.” He looked them in the eyes, first Teferi, then Fallon. “My friends, please help me, for I cannot help myself.”

  14

  IT WAS NEARLY dawn as Fallon quietly emerged from Anok’s sleeping chamber. She wore a silk tunic and a leather skirt. Her only weapon, a dagger, was strapped at her waist, but her sword leaned against the wall, never far from her sight.

  Though he could not see her, Sabé reflexively looked up as she emerged.

  She came and sat down heavily in the chair across the table from him.

  “How fares he?”

  “He sleeps soundly. The fever is past. His body fights the venom off faster each time. It is his mind I fear for. This is the third venom ritual in the span of a week. Though he fights, I fear it will not be enough.”

  She looked out through the doors into the villa’s garden, where a bonfire burned, sparks dancing into the predawn sky, and Teferi knelt, the Kotabanzi, the “dream stick” held in his raised hands. “I fear for him, too. Each time he holds vigil over Anok’s nightmares, and each time he emerges more troubled.”

  “He is strong,” said Sabé, “as are you.”

  “I do not feel strong. This is no enemy I can fight with muscle or steel.” She leaned closer to Sabé, across the table. “You must help us to fight for him! You must show me some mystic weapon, some talisman, some magic sword, like the Kotabanzi, so that I can help Anok.”

  Sabé smiled sadly. “There is nothing for you, my beautiful warrior. You have no hidden secret of blood, no foretold destiny, no hidden talents beyond those you already know you possess by birth and training.”

  She slammed her fists angrily on the table. “Then what good am I! What worth has a Cimmerian woman if she cannot battle for the man she—” The words hung in her throat.

  Sabé reached out, felt for her hand, and gently put his wrinkled fingers over hers. “I know well how you feel. For all my study, all my learning, I can be of only little use in this affair. I know
a thousand magics, none of which I can use. I am worse than useless”—he touched the cloth tied over his eyes—“I am a burden. I am blind, and a cripple in the one way that counts in this matter.”

  “You are too hard on yourself, Sabé.”

  “As are you. Nonetheless, in Anok, I see the culmination of everything I have struggled for all these many years. I never had a son, but if I did, I could not have asked for one better. Yet I cannot seem to help him to triumph where I have failed.” He patted her hand. “But perhaps you can!”

  “You just said—”

  “ A statement of fact which does not minimize your abilities. You are, like most Cimmerians I have met, what you are. There is no subterfuge, nothing hidden, nothing veiled. You may hide your feelings, even from yourself, but you cannot hide what you are. It goes against your nature.”

  “Then what am I?”

  He smiled slightly. “If what I have heard you speak of your god, Crom, is true, you are what he has made you, and he has made you everything you need to be. Do not seek to be what you are not, for it is the Cimmerian sense of purpose and identity that makes you stronger than any civilized woman or man can ever be. We seek endlessly what you were born with.” He leaned back in his chair, putting his hands on his knees. “Be who you are, Fallon, and know it will be enough.”

  She rose from her chair, stepped around the table, leaned down, and gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead. “You would have made a good Cimmerian, old man.”

  He grinned. “It is a lie, but it is good that you said so.”

  BARID’S CARRIAGE PULLED up at the gate of the Temple of Set. Anok looked at the portal without enthusiasm. One of the guardians raised his spear in salute. Anok turned away from him. “I have no wish to go here today,” he said.

  Fallon leaned over and put her arm around him. She leaned close to his ear. “Then do not go. What could be easier than that?”

  “I have been summoned by Ramsa Aál. I must go.”