Once his breath evened out, he stepped back out onto the path and continued his pursuit—this time at a fast walk.
The foothill forest opened into a meadow just before the small un-walled town. Akh’Uzan Village stood on the same open space where the wedding tents had seventy years before.
When Nu reached the edge of the trees, ‘Miha entered town. Instead of following the last part of the trail through the open field, he moved toward the hamlet, skirting along the tree line. This gave him an elevation advantage sufficient to see over the low roofs of the nearest set of shops. The trading post was the largest of these, but ‘Miha walked past it to disappear under the awning of the tackle smithy.
A’Nu-Ahki broke into a run. He came to a halt on the small rise behind the tackle smith’s shop and ducked behind a tree overlooking the back end of the row of little baked-brick buildings. He squatted to try to see into the shop. His footing almost slipped and sent him tumbling down the hill from the shock of what happened next.
Na’Amiha and the shop’s owner stepped out the back door—where presumably they could remain unseen—and had a rather long, apparently quite friendly conversation. At least it seemed long to Nu.
She handed the Tackle Smith the package and then they talked some more. She even laughed a little, albeit nervously.
I should think so. Town always makes you almost as uneasy as the bedchamber used to—if that’s possible! Not quite so jumpy now, are you?
Nobody in Akh’Uzan Village would so much as talk to ‘Miha, much less laugh with her. As Tarkuni had made clear before Nu had married her, she was Qayinim—unclean, uncouth, pale, and bloodless—a despised spawn of the Murderer. Where Tarkuni went, the villagers usually followed.
Who was this tackler?
Nu had seen him around, but could not recall his name because the fellow had been one of Urugim’s descendents who had come to Akh’Uzan later, after the wedding. They would need to meet behind the shop because if the villagers ever saw him talking to ‘Miha in a friendly way, the Tackle Smith would have been shunned as she was—possibly even worse.
A’Nu-Ahki put his fist to the soil between his knees to steady his squat as he watched them between two fern clumps. What’s next? Are they lovers? Is her whole tragic trauma princess thing an act? ‘Miha might be a little over three hundred years old, but she’s a young three hundred without any marks from child-bearing. Maybe this guy likes flat-chested women who can almost believably paint themselves up as little girls playing dress-up!
Nu fell against the tree and slid to the ground, weak and sick.
The Tackle Smith smiled, and reached out to touch ‘Miha’s arm.
She pulled away—almost playfully, it seemed.
Nu felt all dark and sticky inside, as his wife talked a moment more.
I wonder what she’s telling him? She doesn’t seem put out at all!
Whatever it was, she kept it short. They vanished back into the shop. Nu counted the seconds until he saw her emerge from under the awning on the building’s front side—not too many seconds later, thankfully. She looked around as if to make sure nobody was watching and then made a fast walk to the meadow trail. He waited until she entered the trees before slowly rising to return behind her to the monastery-fortress of his ancestor.
Nu thought, Great E’Yahavah, what am I going to do?
He made no effort to keep up with her. She had only one possible destination once on the trail. Instead, he shuffled along at a moping pace—would have meandered had the forest and rocks not defined the path—terrified at what awaited him at home, and of what he would now have to do.
It’s my duty to report this. There isn’t a range of possibilities here.
She’s your wife, Nu, chosen for you by the Divine Name.
A’Nu-Ahki was unsure if he was mentally arguing with himself, or if E’Yahavah spoke softly to him, or which words came from where even if the latter. It was not at all clear like the dream interpretations of Samyaza’s sons had been. Things hid in his inner murkiness—dark things, even dead things.
It doesn’t matter! I still care about her. I can’t let this happen!
He passed the caves on his right; the same place he had stopped to keep from overtaking ‘Miha in his pursuit. Evil eyes seemed to watch him from amid the bat guano piles. But when he looked inside, no one was there.
You have no choice! Your duty to the Work binds you.
It was my duty to Q’Enukki’s Work that got me into this marriage!
Yes. And maybe your duty to the Work will free you from it as well.
Maybe I don’t want to be free of her!
Nu reached the steep part of the trail that skirted the ledge below the rock-facing on which Q’Enukki’s Retreat stood to his right. A shrill amphiptere called, glide-circling over some dead thing far off above the woods with several vultures. The treetops over the lower foothills were an endless lumpy carpet off a steep drop on his left. For a split second, he considered throwing himself over the side. He imagined himself impaled like a discarded doll on some sharp up-ended branch, pecked at by the flying carrion eaters. They’re already singing for me.
Don’t be absurd! Be free of her! She’s a burden too great to bear!
Nu saw ‘Miha, all painted up like a theater clown, in her tacky little-girl dress-up harem princess outfit, impaled on that same tree. The web-winged razor-toothed amphiptere gorged itself on her middle, while the buzzards pecked out her wide-open unseeing eyes.
Which is it? You or her?
It’s a question of duty both ways! What do you want from me?
Silence.
Not even the amphiptere and vultures screeched.
Nu approached the fortress gate as if it was a dragon’s cave because he knew what was inside. At least we have no children. There’s always that.
He did not remember making any choice. He simply passed inside, climbed the wall stairs, and walked along the parapet toward his father’s corner turret apartment. He paused outside, but in the end, entered because he saw no viable alternative that could work in the long-run.
He found his father dusting one of his little wooden models—a third-generation Behemoth war engine.
“Pahpo, I need to talk.”
“Sure, Nu. How can I help?”
A’Nu-Ahki wasn’t sure how to start. “Ever see something you never wanted to see in someone you love?”
Lumekki laughed. “Please, are you kidding? Aren’t you the kid who once would have beaten me to within a hair’s breadth of my life if you had only been big enough at the time? I’m the master of suspicion, remember?”
Nu smiled. “Yeah. I was a little hot-head back then, wasn’t I?”
“No. That time you had a right to be.”
“No I didn’t. Not really. I wasn’t there to see what you saw.”
Lumekki said, “I should have seen what was right in front of me.”
“I’ve learned that making sense of what you see right in front of you isn’t always so simple, even when you ask for Divine help. I was wrong then. Maybe you were too, but that’s for you to judge. I only know that things aren’t as simple as that petulant self-righteous boy once imagined.”
“Just what have you’ve seen, Son?”
“I’m seeing and hearing stuff from ‘Miha that’s starting to scare me—stuff I never went looking for.”
His father motioned him into a couch and sat down next to him. “What kind of stuff? I don’t exactly have the best battle record on marriage, so if it’s personal… Well, I’m just saying up front.”
“No, it’s nothing like that—well, not entirely, anyway. It is possible Clan business, though. That frightens me.”
“What do you mean?” Lumekki’s warm eyes suddenly cooled.
“She’s been doing odd things lately. I watched her slip out the gate and followed her down to town. She met up with that fellow who owns the tackle shop—a distant member of Urugim’s clan—I forget his name. They both stepped out the bac
k—I watched from the forest edge. She handed him a wrapped package. It looked like it could have been a bundle of letter-sized scrolls. Not only that but yesterday, over breakfast, she let something slip that she couldn’t have possibly known.”
“Which was?”
Nu’s stomach was in knots. ‘Miha was a handful, but he didn’t want her hurt. “She was trying to console me over what happened at the front. She mentioned Isha’Tahar by name. I hadn’t told her anything about who the Samyazas had sent to meet me…”
Lumekki let out a long puff of air. “Son, before you go any further can I give you some fatherly advice?”
“Pahpo, she was happy that my mission failed—she could barely contain herself! She tried, but she couldn’t…”
“Nu, don’t be an idiot! Of course, she was happy! She’s your wife! She was terrified every second you were at the front. Nothing that keeps you from ever needing to go to an active war front again can exactly make her unhappy! Think hard before you embarrass yourself the way I did with your mother—may E’Yahavah comfort her! My dreams are still haunted by her cries of ‘remember my pleasure with you when we lay together…’”
Way too much detail, Pahp!
“Even decades after I begged her forgiveness, and she gave it, things were never quite the same—no matter how much either of us tried.”
“Pahp, I’m not repeating your mistake, I’m looking for a way not to!”
“Nu, ‘Miha and I had tea before you got up that morning. I told her about Tubaal-qayin’s dispatch, which had mentioned all about Isha’Tahar.”
“You told her?”
Lumekki made his crooked little smirk. “Yes, Son. Everything Pahpi reads, I read too—remember? I even read to her from it.”
“Was that wise?”
The Old Tacticon looked at him sideways and then playfully smacked the back of his son’s head. “Seer it out! On second thought, never mind, I suppose I should have told you before…”
Nu smoothed his ruffled hair back down. “Told me what?”
“’Miha informed me just a few weeks after you two were married that one of the incoming sons of Urugim settling the village at the time was actually an agent of Lumekkor. She then explained to me about Avarnon-Set’s intentions for her in your marriage. I thanked her for her candor and asked her not to say anything to anyone else—even you.”
“Why? Can’t I be trusted anymore?”
Lumekki’s brow arched. “Remember that little principle called ‘need to know?’ I told her to send information to this operative occasionally—misinformation coming from me. Nu, ‘Miha volunteered to let me use her to feed bad intelligence to Old Dog-face. I sent her with that package today because I want Lumekkor to think we reprimanded and demoted you over how things went at the front. It frees up both you and the Seer Clan from any real repercussions they might otherwise send our way. It’s also an important tool I use to influence Avarnon-Set’s thinking.”
“Am I being demoted?”
Lumekki laughed, slapping his son’s back this time. “Don’t be such an oversensitive woman, boy! You’re starting to scare me now! ‘Miha’s one of my heroes and so are you.”
That night, for the first time, Nu did not need to take his wife’s desire for him as an article of faith. She responded—not like Emza because she wasn’t Emza. She was ‘Miha.
Afterward, A’Nu-Ahki basked in the joy of her inner healing; certain it meant that the wounds of her past were finally mending and that she would freely experience the kind of love from him that E’Yahavah had intended.
It would not take long for him to discover however, that things with ‘Miha were not that simple.
Both sides spent a mountain of slain in contest for a scabrous ridge.
—S.L.A. Marshall
World War I
12
Firefall
A’
Nu-Ahki watched the carnage from a hill.
Fanatical Samyaza Cult shock troops, driven by the plate-skinned spawn of their god, fought the cruel, calculating techno-savants of Tubaal-qayin in pitched battle. The Samyazas stormed the trenches, only to be mowed down by the spitting crank cannons of the northern titans. These man-things, some with horns and malformed pseudo-bestial heads, fighting beside huge six-fingered warriors, and ape-like cyclopean nightmares clawed though the frenzy in terrible vanguards that clashed in the fetid jungle mists. Thousands of “lesser” men swarmed after them into the melee; cannon, auto-pike, and sword fodder, endless fuel for a relentless wartime inferno that had burned now for over a hundred years.
The giants roared, and their men obeyed. Fiery Behemoth war engines churned both into the bloody mud, crushing them under abortive advances that stalled uselessly upon the mounds of broken bodies. Endless streams of young men formed behind the battle lines to take their turn at the slaughter. Seers and sages ranted their prophecies and ideologies like fire in their ears. The inferno spread to their hearts and engulfed them, until it glowed impenetrable from their eyes.
Titans fanned the flames with speeches of the war’s glory. Then the boys went off to the trenches where they discovered the awful truth. By then it was too late. The sons of the gods took ownership of them, and proved to be the violent terrors that had haunted humanity’s primal nightmares since their expulsion from Aeden, and who’s “sons” would continue to haunt them long after their physical form faded to man’s mythic race memory.
A’Nu-Ahki saw. A’Nu-Ahki knew. He was the conduit. Yet he was powerless to help the young men. He knew they did not want his help. Their fiery eyes glared up at him in accusation, as they marched by below him.
He understood their rage.
While their entire generation fed itself to the slaughter, the Valley of Seers in Akh’Uzan prospered. Its men, exempt from military service, were able to grow fat and wealthy selling food and lumber to the hungry war machine of Lumekkor. A’Nu-Ahki had bought this unholy exemption through his politically-arranged marriage. Instead of a haven for the spiritual Work of Q’Enukki, it had become a pocket of greedy self-righteous indolence. Thus, the young men hated him, and he could not blame them.
Weary of watching a battle he could do nothing about, Nu turned to gaze off into the green distance on the other side of the hill. The place was higher than it should have been—more exposed than any summit had a right to be in such times. He felt the eyes in the sky beat down upon him, as a roaring wave mounted in the west.
Below, on the other side, Akh’Uzan Valley sprawled as an agricultural empire that fueled the great slaughter. Farmers had staked claims in the meadows. Foresters harvested the hillside resin giants. Urugim’s children, who had wanted no part of their father and Muhet’Usalaq at Paru’Ainu, had since emigrated from Sa-utar in hordes to avoid conscription. Impostors by the score faked their family tokens to join in the riches of the exemption—like the village tackle smith. Hungrily they set up house to divide the spoils.
The consuming wave out of the west struck the valley, but it was not water. Fluid filth consumed Akh’Uzan in its sticky sickly-sweet crash and undertow. Nothing held it back. Following it, a swarm of biting insects came, drawn by the rotten stench. Nobody could see it or smell it but Nu.
Something huge and dark snatched his senses; everything he saw, heard, and felt then warped violently toward it. Yet when the shadow passed, the scene was unchanged. The filthy wave drew out, leaving the landscape coated in its ooze, with clouds of flies swarming down.
A sting bit into the back of A’Nu-Ahki’s neck. He slapped at the insect, but instead pulled away a great blood-sucking leech. He stared at the dying creature in his hand, all awash in his own redness. It writhed, turned over, and came up changed. Nu screamed, threw the thing down, and ground it under his foot. It had grown a human head, with his face on it.
“Whore lover!” The accusation came from the valley below.
“Wraith-faced tramp!” said another ungrateful mouth. “Does she make it worth the price of your soul every night
with her whorish skills?”
All of Akh’Uzan gathered below to heap insults on Nu and his wife.
Tarkuni stepped up, shouting something about their children procreating like beasts in the field. His grandson Henumil joined him, eyes blazing holy hatred for the “Great Betrayal.” A’Nu-Ahki recoiled, and almost turned back to the awful battle on the other side of the hill.
A single moderate voice sounded among the valley dwellers. “They are being unfair to you, my Captain. Too much was happening!” It came from Nestrigati the Acolyte, though the others drowned him out. Nu watched his former assistant shrug his shoulders, and bow out of the growing mob.
“We have our refuge!” Henumil balled his fists. “Why do you defile it with that woman? Divorce her!”
“We could go back to the way it was before if not for you!” Tarkuni added, “To the days when such things were not done!”
“No!” A’Nu-Ahki said, fed up with their stupidity. “Morons! Your own prosperity grew on the fact that I married her! You can’t go back! We can never go back! Don’t any of you understand? It can never be how it was before! Not now! Not ever! All we can do is turn from where we are now, and let E’Yahavah do something new. This is all coming to an end!”
He woke up with the crowing of the pre-dawn cock. Icy sweat ran down his face. Nevertheless, his dreams revealed nothing he had not already seen or heard in waking life.
Cool air blew in from the window, and ruffled Na’Amiha’s fine straw hair next to him. He rolled out of the divan to pull on his clothes.
When he went down to the cooking hearth, he found that his father had already boiled water for the morning tea. He poured himself a bowl, and walked across the courtyard to climb the parapet walkway. A’Nu-Ahki and his father greeted the dawn as always, taking in the cool air high up on the battlements that curved around Lumekki’s tower chamber.
The valley lay shrouded in pre-dawn mists while sunrise vermilions over Mount N’Zar gathered. Steam from their lotus tea curled the crisp air as they faced south, vapor sprites defying the great bloodletting that stretched across the land deceptively hidden just a few days march below the horizon.
Dawn Apocalypse Rising (The Windows of Heaven Book 1) Page 17
