The City of Pillars

by Joshua P. Simon

  The spear sailed through the air toward them. Andrasta sped up and it plunged into the dirt behind her. Rondel dodged away from the wavering piece of wood as she drifted to the right. Two men ran toward him with long knives brandished.

  He carefully tossed the clay containers to the ground nearby, then drew his sword in one fluid motion.

  A notion struck him.

  I was worried about Andrasta killing people, but can I stop them without killing?

  “Act!” Andrasta’s voice shouted in his mind as if they sparred.

  Rather than get into his traditional fighting stance to present a smaller target, Rondel ran at them. His only chance of achieving his goal would be to do things on his terms. He began swinging his sword through the air as though it were a sickle, and he an idiot who had no clue what he was doing.

  His mannerisms caused the two youths to pause. He saw the realization in their eyes that knives were not exactly the best weapons to use in defense against a crazy man with a sword.

  Rondel targeted the youth on the left first with a sweeping backhand swipe. The younger man moved fast, swaying away from the blade. Rondel took advantage of the off balance opponent, lowered his weapon, and shouldered into him. His adversary grabbed Rondel’s sleeves and they both fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs and curses.

  Rondel’s smashed his sword hilt into the side of the youth’s jaw, knocking him unconscious.

  A burning pain lanced through his side. He winced, a yelp catching in his throat. His free hand instinctively moved to his side while rolling away and twisting to spot the other attacker. The knife that had ripped into his side swept toward his throat. His sword came up. Steel clanged, then snapped. The fishing knife broke at the hilt. Rondel kicked his foot hard into the youth’s crotch. His opponent gasped and doubled over.

  “Rondel! Hurry.”

  He turned toward the shout. Andrasta pushed one of the beached boats into the river. Unconscious or incapacitated bodies lay on the ground all around her. Thankfully, none seemed dead.

  Gods, why does she have to make everything look easy?

  He snatched up the clay containers he left in the sand and dashed toward the boat, gritting his teeth with each step as pain shot up his side.

  Shouting villagers burst through the line of vegetation behind him. The urgency of the situation helped him ignore his injury while he helped push the boat into the water.

  Villagers rushed into the water after them while others worked on getting another boat into the river.

  “Get in,” Andrasta yelled and followed suit.

  He jumped in, dropped his short sword, and scooped up a paddle. He clenched his jaw to manage the pain each stroke of the paddle sent blazing through his torso.

  It will be a wonder if I don’t grind my teeth to nubs. If we make it out alive that is.

  The two rowed furiously.

  A spear splashed into the water near them. A throwing knife thudded into the side of the boat. Rondel turned. The other boat was going to overtake them. To make matters worse, the boat that had been left in the water headed in their direction.

  “They’re going to reach us by the time we make it to the center of the river,” said Rondel.

  “I’ll take care of it. Just keep paddling,” said Andrasta.

  She paddled furiously behind him until the first boat neared. The man nearest the prow began to rise with a scimitar in hand. The moment he stood, Andrasta reached over the side, wrenched the knife embedded there free, and threw it at him. He flinched in a panic and swung his sword wildly in an attempt to block the attack. The knife sailed by the man’s head, but the movement of ducking and swinging the sword pitched him overboard. He surfaced a moment later weaponless and in the way of the boat.

  Just one left.

  They paddled again until reaching the center of the river. The other boat waited. Having watched the effort of their friends, the man at the bow crouched and looked far more sure of himself. Andrasta waited until the last moment before dropping the paddle into the boat with a thud. She grabbed the netting at their feet. In one fluid motion she stood, spread it like she’d been born to it, and threw.

  The netting entangled the fishermen. As they struggled, the current took the boat downriver.

  Andrasta nonchalantly sat and resumed paddling.

  “Where did you learn to cast a net like that?” Rondel asked.

  “There is a small village near where I trained. My master used to make us help them since he often leaned on them to support us.” Despite the immediacy of the situation they left, Andrasta’s face took on a calm quality as she recalled her past. “I found a sense of peace in working the nets.”

  By the time they reached shore, Rondel’s injury was burning. Soaked in river water and sweat, he longed for a change of clothes. He could also use a nap.

  The urgency of finding Shadya drove away his exhaustion. Sleep will have to come later. Still, I need to see to the wound.

  He climbed out of the boat, took a few steps, and promptly sat. More than one hundred and fifty feet away on the opposite shore, it seemed like the entire village of Hegra cursed in their direction with fists raised.

  “Looks like they’re done chasing,” said Andrasta.

  “I guess their fear of being this close to the djinn outweighs their anger,” he huffed, finally looking down at his side where blood glistened through the cloth around his wound. Thankfully, it wasn’t as large as he feared.

  Long and shallow.

  He pressed his hand to it and the slight flow of blood ceased.

  “For now. That may change as the sun continues to set.”

  Rondel didn’t respond as he lifted his shirt and tried to better examine the wound. Footsteps crunched on the wet sand and rock.

  Andrasta squatted beside him. “Bad?”

  “Nothing that will kill me so long as I can get it cleaned and stitched.”

  “Usually simple enough, but we don’t exactly have a way to build a fire without drawing that djinn’s attention.”

  “And no sense in stitching anything without cleaning it first.” Rondel sighed. “Patch job it is then. That will at least stop the bleeding.”

  Andrasta helped him tie a tight bandage over the wound.

  Rondel climbed to his feet and stretched experimentally. He felt the pull of the wound, but the bandage lent enough support not to cause any more damage.

  “It’ll do for now,” he said.

  An image of Shadya passed through his mind, her soft smile and tender eyes.

  “Let’s scout the area before it gets completely dark. We need to figure out what we’re going to do.”

  * * *

  Andrasta decided it best for them to split up. Given that she had skills better suited to move soundlessly at the speed they needed, she suggested Rondel scout the area around the river’s edge. She suggested this so he could also keep an eye on those from Hegra in case any decided it was worth the risk to cross the river.

  Meanwhile, she worked herself inland. Her pace slowed once she passed several jagged sandstone clusters near the river. The land opened up into relatively flat terrain with barely any cover. She slinked, and snaked her way on her belly between small rocks, shallow ditches, and patches of tall, thin grass toward the three, wide-canopied acacia trees Fikri had mentioned.

  Nothing grew within one hundred feet of the three acacia, each of which Andrasta guessed to be over twenty feet in height. She lay flat on her stomach inside a shallow divot of earth that left her far more exposed than she would have liked. Yet, she had no other option.

  I have to know if this really is the thing’s lair.

  She drew her sword, more out of habit than because she actually thought it would do her any good. Fighting fire with steel seemed like a waste of effort but she wasn’t about to go any farther without something sharp in her hand. She had brought her clay container just in case, though she had no clue how she’d get the djinn inside.

  Hopefully, that’s
something Rondel will figure out.

  She readied herself to sprint to the nearest acacia.

  A puff of smoke rose from the ground in the center of the trees. Voices in a strange language followed. She flattened herself once more and removed the lid of the container.

  The harsh voices continued speaking for several minutes while intermittent smoke came up from the ground where she assumed the lair resided.

  Great. Two of those things.

  Eventually the voices subsided. Since she was certain of the lair’s location, she didn’t feel the need to go any closer without Rondel and some semblance of a plan.

  However, she had one more thing to check, hoping for a back entrance. Slowly, she inched her way to the left on elbows and knees, eyes locked on the center of the acacias.

  * * *

  Growing more worried by the footstep, Rondel swiped his sword through invisible targets as he paced the river’s shore. The sun had gone down and the temperature had dropped noticeably, but Andrasta still had not returned. He winced with the last swipe and his free hand went to the wound at his side.

  A throat cleared behind him.

  He spun and took up a defensive stance. Recognition flared and he relaxed. “Gods, how about you make some noise before you’re this close to me next time. I’m not the one you’re supposed to be sneaking up on.”

  “I wasn’t trying to conceal my movements. If you’re that distracted, how do we know someone from Hegra hasn’t crossed the river farther away?”

  He waved a hand. “They’re too scared. They argued for a good ten minutes about just that, so loudly I could hear them. In the end, they decided the risk wasn’t worth it and they’d fortify their homes instead for when the djinn inevitably attacks them. They then threw some curses my way and set up sentries on the shore to alert the rest of the village.” He gestured toward three men standing in torchlight near their boats.

  “Regardless, you need to—”

  “Yes. Yes. Pay better attention. I get it. What did you find out?”

  Andrasta sneered at the interruption. “I found the lair. It’s going to be tricky getting inside as there is little cover nearby. The djinn was also talking to someone. Arguing really.”

  “Shadya?”

  “No. Neither voice sounded human. I think there might be another djinn. The conversation was in some strange language. Not Erban. I couldn’t understand what was said.”

  “Fikri didn’t say anything about there being more than one or about them using some other language.”

  Andrasta shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t know. They could have been working together all this time.”

  “Seems unlikely based on how territorial he made the djinn sound.”

  “Why else would there be two?”

  He threw up his hands. “Gods if I know. Maybe the mother is visiting or something, and you heard them having a fight, nagging her son about not living up to the expectations she had for him.” He pitched his voice higher, imitating an old woman. “You could have done so much better for yourself. . . .”

  Andrasta tilted her head. “You want to get something off your chest?”

  Rondel gave her a look, then chuckled, looking more like the Rondel she knew. “Sorry, old memories coming at me out of the blue. My mother never liked my obsession with music. I’m pretty sure she wanted me to be a priest of Woden.”

  “Really? What happened?”

  “That whole thing about not believing in the god you grew up being forced to worship would have made it difficult to follow through with her wishes.” He rubbed his chest. “Anyway, so there are two. Any good news?”

  “I found a back way.”

  “Go on.”

  “It’s a good fifty yards past the three acacia. It’s small. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to get out of the thing.”

  “You went inside?”

  “Had to in order to see if it was what I thought. Besides, I didn’t hear the same voices at that opening or see any smoke from the djinn.”

  “Did you see them?”

  “No. I stopped when the two started talking again. It was a quick exchange and ended with one striking the other, I think. It was hard to tell with the echoing in the tunnels.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t just charge right in with sword swinging.”

  “Steel won’t cut fire.”

  “You had the container.”

  “I didn’t know if you could get two in just one jar. Besides, I still don’t know how we’re going to trap them.”

  Rondel scratched at the scar on his throat. His hand drifted down to his chest and he rubbed it again. He gave a grunt. “I think I have a plan.”

  “About time.” She paused. “You don’t look sure.”

  “It’s a gamble.”

  “Everything’s a gamble. What’s the plan?”

  “First, take off your outer layer of clothes and turn them inside out. Then lay them on the rocks over there. We’re going to ward them by copying the ones on the containers.”

  “We are?”

  “Well, I am.”

  “Since when are you a sorcerer?”

  Despite her concerns, Andrasta began removing her outer robes, the traditional attire of a man in Erba. Rondel did the same.

  “I’m not. But with warding you don’t necessarily have to be. The sorcery is in the wards themselves. Anyone can use wards really.”

  “Then what’s so special about someone like Shadya? Why are her wards better?”

  “That’s where the natural sorcerous talent comes in. Shadya’s an expert. Her lines and her curves would be tighter due to years of practice. Plus, she can imbue the wards with her own talent besides the power of the ward itself. We can’t. Add all that up and her wards would be far stronger and last much longer than ours. Our inability to do that is where part of the gamble comes in. My wards will help, but will overall be weaker than what an expert could do.”

  “And you know all this how? Is this some random knowledge you learned as a minstrel and only now conveniently remember?”

  “No. Some of it came up when I was researching the symbols at the museum in Zafar’s library. Shadya confirmed the rest while we waited for you to recover in her apartment. Despite your concerns, not all our conversations mimic those of lovestruck children,” he added sarcastically.

  “I see. And what’s the other part of this gamble?”

  “The fact that warding our clothes seems like a ridiculously obvious solution to fighting the djinn. It makes me wonder why the villagers don’t ward their own clothing as extra protection.”

  “So, this could all be a waste of time.”

  “Not a complete waste of time. I’m confident the wards will offer some protection. How much and for how long is the question. Like I said, it’s a gamble.”

  “Better odds than what we had before.”

  “Exactly.” Rondel picked up one of the clay containers and held it next to their clothes while dabbing his hand in mud.

  * * *

  Sometime later Andrasta asked in barely a whisper. “You sure about this?”

  Rondel heard the hint of doubt. It made the uncertainty creeping into his mind more prominent. Neither he nor Andrasta thought the full plan was perfect, but neither could think of a better option.

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  As I’m going to be.

  Rondel stared at the three acacia from a depression in the ground so shallow he felt like just moving his head up to get a better view was akin to standing and waving his hands about.

  “All right. I’m on my way. Remember to wait for my signal.”

  He nodded.

  Andrasta disappeared into the blackness toward the back entrance of the djinn’s lair. She cradled a clay container under one arm.

  He pulled his two closer to his chest.

  An eternity seemed to pass as he waited. It reminded him of the moments right before he’d perform in some noble’s court. The sudden urge to urinate took over.
>
  Stupid nerves. Ignore it, Rondel. It will pass. Just like they used to when you struck that first chord.

  A mosquito bit his neck but he barely noticed, so intent on listening.

  A loud scratching sound echoed across the otherwise still night. It mimicked the sounds of an antelope-like creature seen in their travels through Erba called an oryx. Andrasta had assured Rondel she could mimic their sounds when it searched for food as it closely matched the breeds she had grown up with in Juntark.

  The digging stopped which meant that Andrasta had worked her way through the back entrance. Rondel counted to thirty so she had time to get through the narrowest part of the tunnel. He started to speed up counting twice, anxious, but forced himself to slow.

  He took a deep breath and stood. Casually he strolled toward the three acacia, carrying a clay container under each arm. He didn’t bother masking his movements. Fear melted away as he put on the persona that had once defined him, a man of confidence so absolute it could only be described as arrogance.

  He stopped twenty feet from the center of the acacias where a large hole resided. He placed the two containers down at his feet, then opened the lids. He cleared his throat loudly.

  A low, curious grumbling that sounded like thunder rolling off in the distance came from the hole’s opening. He cleared his throat again, even louder though it strained his throat to do so. “Excuse me,” he called. “I’d like to have a word with you.”

  A billow of smoke came up from the hole. Bouts of flame followed. The smoke coalesced into the same almost-human form from the river. A red glow shone in the eyes, nose, and mouth.

  Rondel stood his ground, masking the fear running down his spine. He performed a sweeping bow so deep that even the most well-trained noble would have been envious of its precision. He stood with a bright smile. “Greetings. I’ve heard many marvelous things about you from the villagers in Hegra, and I must say that up close you are thrice as impressive as when we met earlier today.”

  The djinn’s mouth opened, spitting small flames that extended a good two feet from its face. Rondel did his best not to flinch at the heat. The djinn spoke low, its voice echoing. Though he understood not a word, each syllable carried a promise of hell. If Rondel hadn’t been so focused on maintaining his character, he might have dribbled his nerve down his leg.