“Six and two zeros.”
“Nine and two zeros!”
“Six and two zeros!”
“I let you come over to my house. I give you food and drink, I call you brother and you repay me like this!”
“Seven and two zeros!”
“Eight and two zeros and don’t talk about it anymore, dog!”
The hands of the two men met, as if they both knew the perfect timing of that negotiation. Happy with the transaction, they hugged each other.
“Come to old Sahid whenever you want. You haven’t come, lately. What happened?”
“Sarah is big with child, you know?”
“And are you the father this time?”
“You dog!”
They laughed under the silent gazes of the little slaves, then the customer motioned to the two servants that he’d brought with him—two dark-skinned, bald thugs. He pointed at his new purchases. “You know what to do. Be careful, if you make one visible scratch on them I’ll take your testicles. Again.”
Only then did Sahid seem to notice Dagger and the Hotankars. “Well, what’s the problem? If you wanted those, they’re sold but old Sahid will find something for you, too. Only…you don’t have the face of someone who runs a brothel. Have you come to swell the ranks of your cursed city gangs? Vardo is full of shit like you!”
Dag opened his mouth.
But Ianka beat him to the punch. “Sahid, you dirty dog. My boss told me about you and all the crap you say. If you try to trick us, we come here and raze this stinking place to the ground!”
Sahid was startled, but in a theatrical way. He moved his hands in frenzied movements. “Well, your boss knows well who protects me and I’m going to kick his ass!”
“Dog!”
“You dog! Take a look at here, this kid, look at his shoulders, he’s no more than fifteen. You can make a fighter of him. Throw him into an arena, bet everything you have, and live off of the income for all your life, drinking every day something to the health of old Sahid.”
“That’s not what I need.”
“So what do you need? A petty thief? Then look at here! Look at these two twins. Look at their little hands—they could slide them in every pocket, I tell you, everywhere!”
“My boss has everything he needs.”
“Then what the Ktisis do you want from poor Sahid, his time? That’s a good that Sahid doesn’t sell willingly. Go away. Go to the stand across the street, go to who sells you—!”
“We need a ride. To the other side.”
The merchant froze, and perhaps this time his reaction was spontaneous. “To the other side?”
“Hey, don’t ask questions.” Ian tried to sound convincing and looked over his shoulder. After a moment’s hesitation, Dagger got the message and folded his arms in front of his chest, imitated by Ash and Erin.
Schizo continued, “We need some people to pass through some places with some black guards, you know? Don’t ask crap if you care about the ears and tongue you need to keep the show going.”
“Dog!”
“The passage!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. How do you think you can elude the control of Sabbath?”
Ash put a hand to his blade.
But Ian was quicker and stopped his friend. “Put down your hand,” he said under his breath. “You couldn’t even draw it before you get beheaded.”
The white blood followed his advice.
“Ah, go to Ktisis!” Sahid shouted to another merchant, “Watch over my goods for a while and don’t sell them as if they were yours!” Then he turned toward them. “To seek the help of Sahid…how stupid can you be? Come with me.”
They watched him skeptically, as they followed him away from the collapsed hall. They walked in a maze of shady streets—a chessboard of crumbling, ocher buildings. Judging by the smell, Dagger thought that some dead body was lying forgotten in a laneway nearby. His suspicion became a certainty when he saw the soles of two withered feet emerge from a pile of rags.
Armed men with scimitars and spears stood guard at the gate of a less populous district, characterized by high buildings adapted to regal residences. The bare walls gave way to majestic colonnades, beyond which were sumptuous gardens full of life, with date palms and emerald green lawns. Long porticos led to the houses, among fountains and water features.
Ianka asked, “Are you stealing all the water in this fuckin’ city?”
“Stealing? We’re the guardians of beauty,” Sahid explained. “We restored Adramelech citadel to its ancient splendor, together with the old aqueduct from the north. Half of the water goes to quench the city’s thirst—what do you think?—we keep only the rest for our gardens.”
“People looked pretty thirsty in the street,” Erin said. “And many had swollen bellies. They don’t drink clean water.”
“Because they waste it with old people and kids!”
“What?”
Sahid made a nervous gesture. “As far as I’m concerned, they can start digging to find the old river running underneath Adramelech. Ktisis is great, I say! This city is just a huge distributing point, and all I do is oversee its flows!”
They turned into a deserted street, flanked by high walls. Only one small door opened in the middle, guarded by twelve guards.
“Welcome to my humble home,” the merchant said, putting the key into the keyhole. They had to bow to enter the narrow, long passage through the thick wall. “Enemies and friends alike must bow before they meet the poor Sahid!”
Walking through the darkness, toward the light, Dagger felt like he was born into the garden that lay beyond—more sumptuous than those they had met hitherto and the Glade itself.
“Come,” the merchant said, inviting them with his hand. “Please, come.”
Gigantic statue fragments were scattered all around, covered by the lush vegetation. The perimeter wall at the far end had been erected by bricking up the arches of the old aqueduct, and a high waterfall flew down from the top of it, becoming a stream that bisected the garden. Dozens of children ran over its stone and wooden bridges, amused by the sound of their bare feet hitting the planks. They dived or were pushed into the water. They climbed on the shoulders of one other to unsaddle their friends, or they lay in the sun joking and laughing.
A balcony all covered with creepers opened in the belly of an immense female torso. Naked men and women sat on it, sipping an amber liquid or smoking long hookahs as they overlooked the garden. People drank and smoked everywhere: on the meadows studded with multicolored flowers; in the oases created in a miniature desert; in the shadows of ancient granite warriors protruding from the sand with sabers, masks and sharp swords. A man poured wine on the breasts of a girl sitting on his crotch, before tasting her. A woman sniffed the magic dust directly from the back of a boy, spanking him. Dates and delicacies were carried continuously by the slaves, ready to satisfy every need of their masters.
“Ktisis shit. I’m dead. I’m dead and this is Almagard,” Ianka said.
Sahid greeted his guests. The slaves interrupted any occupation to kiss the ground on which he had walked, as he headed to the exact center of the garden. Here stood a colossal Ktisis—the best preserved statue they had met until then. They entered the right heel and began the ascent.
Well. At least this time we don’t enter his ass, Dagger thought.
They climbed and climbed, until daylight came back to cheer their eyes when they reached the cave opened below the stone diaphragm. Here they enjoyed a vast view over the walls, and the whole Adramelech. More statues of Ktisis and Skyrgal loomed over the decaying buildings and the crumbling domes. The closer ones were still intact and seemed to call and point at each other in cryptic meanings of which only time still had memory.
Inside the God’s belly was an intimate, luxurious garden—a pleasure citadel for the close friends of the owner.
They followed Sahid to a boy sitting with his back to them, surrounded by girls. They all sat in
a circle on the lawn and were dressed in simple loincloths. They had long, dyed hair of all colors, blue and orange, pink and white, yellow and green. They smoked a hooka in turn, picking up dried fruit from golden bowls and drinking a ruby red wine.
Sahid stood outside the circle. “They’re here.”
“At last,” the boy said in a hoarse voice. He clapped his hands twice. “Get the fuck out. All of you.”
The girls obeyed without haste. They got up and stumbled toward the stairs.
The pink-haired girl got up on all fours and approached the boy who had just spoken. “You’re coming?” She said with half closed eyes. “I didn’t feel so good since…since I don’t remember. You’re coming, huh?”
The boy stuffed a date between her lips, grazing her mouth before dismissing her with a hasty gesture. When they were alone, he stood up, stretching and looking at the city. “Holy fuck. My brain is hanging upside down.” He turned around.
“Warren?!” Ianka said.
“Oh, come on. You hadn’t realized that?” Dagger asked.
“I just wanted to create a little suspense.”
“Son of a bitch,” his brother said.
“Who would be your mother, too.”
“You lost weight,” Erin remarked. “But you’re still a nice young man. You gave yourself to the good life?”
“Come on, hug me.”
“You’re high as a Messhuggah.”
“Are you the Agent Orange?” Dag asked.
“Yes.”
“Seriously?”
“No! Of course not! Ktisis, do I look like a fucking lizard?”
“From the look of you, you really seem high as a Messhuggah.”
Warren thought about it. “Okay, red-eyes, you scored a point. Don’t tell me. You thought Sahid could give you a ride? Well, if it weren’t for us, you’d be already dead.” He made a wide movement of his arm and stumbled backward. “All this belonged to him—a big mess, believe me. Half of the town paid for his protection, which was protection from himself, since those who didn’t pay were buried with their faces sprinkled with honey and—”
“But…what the…?” Ash interrupted.
War stood with his arms hanging in mid-air, before dropping them. He puffed. “Sometimes I wonder how can you be my brother. It was your idea, right? Sahid would have never helped you. He’d have sold you as soon as possible, and perhaps he’d have even amused himself with your corpses. Especially with that of Ianka, knowing his tastes.”
Ianka turned to Sahid.
“Oh, I’d never do that. Don’t listen to the whitebait,” the merchant said. “He smoked.”
“Yes, but how much?”
“Quite a lot. He believes that I’m dead and I can’t be of any use. Funny, isn’t it?”
“Really!” Warren pointed his thumb backward. “You ugly, fucking slaver, you’ll be very little help in the state you’re in now, beneath those beautiful daisies.”
“Okay, I’m lost,” Ian muttered. “Maybe I should enjoy that hooka, too…”
The white blood shook his head, pointing his index finger behind them. “Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you a masterpiece on two legs. This is the guy who taught me how necessary it is—if you want to be credible—to say and do what people expect from someone who’s not striving to be credible. Or something like that.”
All four turned around to look at Sahid, who bowed before starting to remove the bandages from his head. He raised the mask on his eyes and revealed his true identity. He was an adult Messhuggah with long, red braids running down his temples and neck.
“The Agent Orange in person. Or in lizard,” Warren introduced him, sitting down and smoking again. “The left hand of Araya—and at least the nail of the little finger of fucking Ktisis’ right foot! All his father.”
Schizo tilted his head to the side. “Shit. I’m impressed.”
“Don’t worry. He cheated me too the first time,” Erin said.
Dag asked, “Shouldn’t he have orange hair?”
Ash calmly answered, “That’s only a qualification. However, he dyes his hair.” Then he went on a rampage. He took the hookah out of the hands of his brother and threw it out of the belly of Ktisis.
“Hey, that was full!”
“Are you crazy, smoking all day long and eating dates on the tits of the girls with everything that’s going on out there?”
“All day? I arrived only this morning. Or yesterday morning. Or the one before that, or…Ktisis, I don’t know. But that thing was really full!”
“And those tits?”
“Firm as ripe apples!” Warren snapped and threw Ash to the ground. The two brothers looked at each other in silence, then burst out laughing, hugging and rolling on the lawn.
“Look at them…” Erin said.
“I’ve lost all faith in mankind.” Ianka turned to the Messhuggah. “You have a name, don’t you?”
“Not one that may be of interest to a kitchen boy of old Orah.”
“What do you know about—?”
“Listen, dude, if we start with the What do you know abouts we won’t go very far.”
“Are you being racist to me, lizard?”
“No. Classist is the appropriate term, since I make it a question of social class. You come from nowhere. You were a thief, and you’ll never be any good. Your friends don’t know that. I do. I always know everything.”
Dagger came to the rescue of his friend. “Since you know everything, are you by chance planning to tell us what’s going on here?”
The Agent Orange grinned. He walked past them and watched the garden at the feet of the god and his. “Not bad as a cover, huh? The work of a lifetime…my heart is breaking at the mere thought of abandoning this shit Sahid pulled up through the years. I should retire here for a few centuries.” He sighed, rolling his eyes around. “Damn it, we all need a break from life’s hassles once in a while.”
“No,” Ianka replied. “Such paradises are always erected on someone else’s hell. It’s always like this.”
The Messhuggah turned to him, as if he had forgotten his presence. “Um. I suppose you’re right. Dates, wine, and beautiful, firm tushes. The happy merchant was so rich because he had the monopoly on human traffic in this area—except for when Orgor raided the western territories, rounded up as many people as he could, and left eastward.”
Ash and Warren in the meantime had begun to argue again, but they were too far to hear what it was about.
“It may have been a cover, but you were selling children for real,” Erin pointed out. “Does your father Araya know that?”
“My father learned to pretend he doesn’t know when he was still very…young,” replied the Agent Orange, or Sahid, and with him all the masks that being had worn in the course of his existence. “He was there with Aeternus when Skyrgal blessed this whole city and its ancient inhabitants with the Red Dawn. It’s him who taught me that each cover must have two fundamental characteristics—being credible, and allowing you to move anywhere. That depends solely on the context in which you operate, there’s no room for the way things should be. No, that never works with the real world. If a leader’s task is really to find a path out of the dark, then a leader must linger in the dark for a while, and have a sufficient knowledge of it. This makes power incompatible with morality.”
“Nice sentence. Seriously. Let me write it down.”
“I feel sorry for those people—what do you think? I wonder what you’d have done in my place. If you really want to know, I kept the ones I wanted to save for the internal market of the city. It was perhaps not a great life? Of course not, but it was life. And if any of them one day will grow up to take revenge, even against me—well—I signed up for that, too. We Messhuggahs understand revenge. It’s the sincerest feeling, unlike love.” He looked at her hard. “Out of here there’s only Orgor, Sabbath, and the Disciples. And that—I assure you, my girl—is anything but life. In every possible way.”
“I hate you
since always!” she said, and went away.
“Always?” Ianka asked.
“After all this time, your sister still has the rare ability to make me angry. Go after her, Schizo.”
“How do you know they call me—?”
“Oh, damn your mother, don’t you hear me when I talk? What’s my name, Agent Orange or Ivory? Go, shoo, leave me alone with…Dagger? This is how you call yourself in your mortal manifestation, right?”
Ian didn’t even have time to draw his sword.
The Agent Orange gently put the tip of his blade on Ianka’s pommel. “No, no. Not close to good enough. I’m your only hope on this side of Agalloch walls—it’s very rude of you to try to kill me. And then, if you think you can really do that, you’re even dumber than you look. Waa waa, I come from the street, waa waa, I saw my buddies die. You’re all so ridiculous. Shoo!”
Ianka kicked the empty air, cutting blades of grass, before going to Erin.
The Messhuggah eyed Dag and the boy tried to look away.
“I can’t read minds,” the lizard confessed, understanding his doubt. “It’s a quality that sometimes I wish I had, even though it would have made me mad just like it did to the Disciples. More or less, have you understood what you are?”
“How much do you know about me?”
“How much Araya’s firstborn can know, and his best agent, too.”
“Apart from Warren?”
“Ah! You want poor Sahid to die laughing, tell the truth. Warren is a late bloomer, but he’s got potential and learns fast—even though most of the times he wants to learn the wrong things. As for you, half of the correspondence I recently received began with Dagger this or Kam Konkra that, depending on the competence of my interlocutor. I must admit that what began with Kam Konkra, that was damn interesting. I really wanted to see how you were done—I mean, what you looked like.”
“I don’t want to know your opinion.”
“No, you don’t. I was expecting something more from your father.” He clasped his hands behind his back and walked to the edge of the garden, where a short stretch of barren rock preceded the void. “You’re not going to remind me that I was selling children, right?”
God of Emptiness Page 9
