by Dana Fredsti
A single skylight shone down upon the god-king, bathing him in a pillar of radiance even as it backlit him— simultaneously highlighting and hiding him—so that he was no longer merely a man, but a larger-than-life figure composed of shadow and light. Sunlight gleamed on the glossy blue-black feathers rising from his ornate headdress and sparkled off his silver armlets and copper breastplate.
“Tsileyusga utanu üguhwiyuhi Kalanu Nuhdaegehi. Detsuyadaniluga,” he said. The clever acoustics gave his already powerful voice an even deeper, superhuman resonance. The woman at his feet began translating, but Blake was pleasantly surprised that his linguistic implant recognized the language as Cherokee.
“The Sun Raven bids you welcome,” she said.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Rockwell stepped up, his limp lending him an odd sort of gravitas, and gave an awkward bow. He cleared his throat nervously. “Great King, my name is Orrin Porter Rockwell. Well, sir, my associates and I have come to your fair city to offer you our services, and those of our prisoners. Now, it’s no secret that your Royal Majesty has a great desire to obtain skilled men such as can work scientific—”
The king cut him off with a rapid-fire torrent of Cherokee. The implant’s translation was intriguing.
“Enough from him. Now let us roast them. You know what to say, my love.”
“His father the Sun tells the Sun Raven all that he sees during the day,” the woman said in a strong, melodic voice. “His mother the Moon and his sisters the stars tell him what they see at night. So Mr. Rockwell, understand the Sun Raven knows well who you are, and of your reputation as a gunfighter and hunter of men. He knows, too, the Pawnee and the Englishman with you, and the deeds they have done. He suffers very few such men to live. Be thankful he has allowed you into his presence.”
Feeds-the-Crows said nothing, but the muscles in his neck tensed. Shanks’s grip on the leather leash tightened as his fist trembled.
“Well, sir, our reputation is exaggerated, surely,” Rockwell stammered. “Let’s put all that behind us. We’re not here today as outlaws, or enemies of Cahokia, just as humble merchants, only interested in fair trade.”
“The Sun Raven knows why you have come to the great city, as he knows the claims made by the prisoners you have brought,” the woman replied. “The manacles on these men offends the Sun Raven. There are no more slaves here. Remove them.”
“Yes, yes, of course, Your Majesty.” Rockwell snapped his fingers at Shanks, and the Redcoat made haste to unlock them.
“Now, Rockwell, you and your men are dismissed. You will find abundant refreshment and lodgings in the Mericat Quarter, where you will wait for your reward while your three associates are put to the test. If they are worthy, your payment will be generous. If they prove to be false or weak, they shall suffer for it—and your payment will be of a different kind.”
Rockwell stood for a moment, dumbfounded that his sales pitch had come to such an abrupt and unsatisfying end. As a quartet of palace guards stepped up to escort them out, he composed himself, quickly bowed and hustled his men out, pausing only long enough to shoot a last fiery stare at Harcourt, who now held their lives in his hands.
Sun-Raven sat in silence during these exchanges, letting his translator do all the talking. He waited until the three bounty hunters had been led out, and then spoke again, his stern voice gentle.
“Now that they are gone, know that I understand your tongue, and you are very welcome here.”
Harcourt quickly stepped forward and bowed deeply, hat in hand. After a moment’s stunned surprise, Cam and Blake followed suit.
“Your most gracious Majesty! We thank you and I promise I shall do my utmost to provide—”
Sun-Raven made quick hissing sounds behind his teeth, as though chasing away a buzzing fly. Harcourt stopped in mid-sentence, petrified.
“Spare me your pretty lies, you red-haired fox,” the king said tersely.
“Your Highness,” Blake said, stepping up. “You are right— this man is a scoundrel and a fraud.” Harcourt stared at him in undisguised outrage. “None of us know anything about electricity, but his lies were only meant for the men who captured us, never to deceive anyone else.”
Cam stepped forward. “High King, we are only here to search for our beloved friends who are lost, yet we will do anything in your service if we can only—”
“Enough!” Sun-Raven slammed his hand upon his throne. “You fearless rascals! What am I to do with you?” He stood up, body quaking with apparent anger. Suddenly he gave a long laugh that echoed through the whole throne room.
“Ha! A fine pharaoh I make!”
His translator had kept her veiled head downturned and poker-faced. Now she sprang up with a huge smile and ran up to a stunned Cam, seizing him in a tight bear hug.
“Cam! Oh, Cam!”
It wasn’t the mysterious woman from before.
It was Leila.
The Sun Raven stepped down out of the blinding spotlight, his arms spread wide.
“Kha-Hotep!” Cam cried out in disbelief as the man joined the embrace. Blake and Harcourt snapped out of their stunned silence and joined in, as well, the whole huddle whooping like drunken madmen as the bemused court watched on.
Cam grabbed their heads in joy. “We were afraid we’d never see you two again!”
“We thought all of you were dead!” Leila said through happy tears.
“But this—all of this,” Blake said, shaking his head. “How in bloody blazes did you ever pull this off, you magnificent bastard?”
“Come! We’ll share each other’s story over some food and drink!” Kha-Hotep grinned. “Look at you, all of you—you haven’t changed a bit!”
Cam laughed. “What do you mean? It has been a rough two days and a night, I know, but it hasn’t…” His smile faded in confusion.
Kha and Leila did look different, he realized.
Kha-Hotep looked at him solemnly.
“It’s been eight years, my brother.”
41
“Are we prisoners, then?” Hypatia asked.
“Come on,” Nellie said, her Irish up. “Put on your clothes and we’ll demand our things back at once.” As soon they were dressed, Nellie strode over to the doorway of the chieftain’s room.
“Nellie, wait!” Hypatia whispered. There was no door to knock, only a beech-bark framework with thick furs, so Nellie pounded on the wooden wall instead.
“Come out, you! We have a serious problem to discuss!”
Neither the headman nor his wife made a sound.
“You’ve stolen from us! This will not stand!” Incensed, she pulled open the curtain of skins.
“Nellie, no!” Hypatia gasped at the breach of protocol.
The chief’s room was empty, but across the room on the other side of the fire pit, the chief’s daughters emerged from their own room, eyes downcast, with the stolen parkas and boots in hand.
“Nellie…” Hypatia murmured.
Nellie turned, eyes still flashing with ire. “You three! What are you doing with—” Her reprimand fell away as the girls held up the snow coats and overshoes, now richly embroidered with their own curving lines and patterns, forming waves and birdlike shapes.
“They must have worked on them all night long,” Hypatia said.
“They’re so beautiful…” Nellie sighed, shaking her head as she felt tears coming on. “Oh, thank you, girls!” She gave the closest daughter a fierce hug, and then grabbed up the other two.
Hypatia looked on, dismayed at the lack of etiquette, but seeing the girl’s obvious pleasure at Nellie’s delight, her sense of formality melted away and she joined in as well.
They all sat down for breakfast, while the girls tried to explain the symbols they had stitched into the parkas. The oldest traced out the line of parentheses on the sleeves, touching the point on the embroidered line with her finger, and miming as if it were a sharp thorn. Her sister held up her hands to her head to make devil horns and growled, and the old
est crossed her fists against her monster-sister.
“I think the designs are magic, meant to protect us from the daimon of the mountain,” Hypatia said.
“Well, I think they will bring us splendid luck!” Nellie enthused.
* * *
It seemed they did bring them luck. For the next week, their days were tranquil. Even across the steep language barrier, Chief Isonash and his family were kind and unfailing hosts. During the shortening days, the men would go hunt, and Nellie and Hypatia would join the younger wives and daughters as they foraged for the last of the autumn’s harvest.
They worked in sewing circles and prepared the food stores for winter. The work made them feel as if they were contributing, helped them bond with the other women, and gave them the chance to pick up snippets of the language.
In the evening, like clockwork, the blue demon would call up the moon. Before long they thought of him more as a nocturnal rooster than a threat.
The men treated Nellie and Hypatia as their equals, drinking with them at dinner. They swapped songs, the hunters singing in their barbarian language while Hypatia would recite epic poems in Greek, and Nellie would sing “Oh My Darling, Clementine” and her favorite vaudeville numbers.
Nellie made a point of spending the beginning and end of each day in silent meditation, mentally calling out for Amber. Once she explained what she was doing, Hypatia quickly took up the practice, too—but no response came. They comforted each other with the hope that she had been successful. Hypatia suggested that perhaps a passing merchant caravan might show up in the springtime, and they could make their way to the Mediterranean and back to Alexandria.
Neither woman voiced the thought that they might be forced to stay where they were for the rest of their lives.
* * *
On the tenth day, the chief announced that he had important news. By signs and gestures, and with the help of his daughters, he informed them that there would be a great and important feast the next day.
42
“It’s beautiful, is it not?”
The palace’s uppermost grassy terrace stood nearly as high as a ten-story building, offering a breathtaking view over the metropolis. It proved to be a perfect place for the friends to sit and catch up over a royal picnic. Kha-Hotep gestured proudly at the roads, waterways, border forts, farms, and rural suburbs that stretched for leagues in all directions.
“The city is a mirror of the cosmos, its four sacred circles all meticulously aligned to serve as astronomical timepieces. The northern circle represents the Sky World above, the one to the south—the one you walked past in the outer city—signifies the Earth World below, and the east and west circles, sunrise and sunset. The palace and the inner city stand at the conjunction of the four, symbolizing the human world.”
“How is it that such a huge shard survived the Event?” Cam asked.
“It started as a cluster of three moderate-sized ones, spanning a few centuries,” Leila explained. “One contained the inner city and part of the outlying suburbs to the east, another pair mostly fields and villages—one from a few generations earlier, the other a few generations later. The rest we’ve rebuilt or expanded upon since.”
“The big question,” Blake said, “is how we came out eight years after you did, even though we followed you into that bloody thing not five minutes after.”
“And yet it seems as if we all emerged at the same spot, in the woods of the haunted ruins,” Kha-Hotep said. “Though when Leila and I arrived, it appeared to have been about five or six months after the Event.”
“When we got here, the city ruins crawled with Stone Age savages,” Leila said. “They spotted us almost immediately, but we were lucky. As they chased us through the forest, they disturbed a pack of these big shaggy lizards, bigger than grizzly bears.” She shuddered. “It was ugly. Kha and I spent hours hiding, and then cut across the prairie until we reached the Mississippi. We arrived to find open war being waged between Cahokia and what remained of Saint Louis.”
“And dinosaurs who preyed on both,” Kha-Hotep added.
“Our timing was perfect,” Leila continued. “The Cahokians had Laclede’s Landing under siege, but even though they were outnumbered, the gangsters still had the firepower—so, boom, it’s a stalemate. When we arrived, both sides were desperate. The crime boss Vito Giannola had run out of food, and was getting short on ammunition.”
Kha-Hotep nodded. “By then, his guns had already killed the Cahokian king, and nearly all of their high priests, and every war leader they had sent against them, along with hundreds of their bravest warriors, so the Cahokians were utterly demoralized, with no idea what to do next.”
“We came out of the west at sunset,” Leila said, “right when the Great Arch looks its most gorgeous, and the Cahokian soldiers were amazed. For one thing, they’d never seen an African before, and though we didn’t speak their language, we did have Cherokee and Lakota Sioux in our implants. They knew enough of both to communicate with us.
“We didn’t know it then, but we had arrived at the end of a sacred day for them,” she continued. “A minor lunar eclipse had occurred the night before, what they call a ‘blood moon.’ For them, it meant the sun and moon had been fighting, and this was a sacred time to resolve feuds. They were astounded when we introduced ourselves. To them, Kha’s name sounded like Ka’a and Ho, their words for ‘Raven’ and ‘Sun.’ All the tribes here love ravens. They tell stories of his cunning, how he stole fire from Heaven, brought messages from the gods, that kind of thing.
“So to have a black-skinned man, with braided hair that sort of looks like feathers, I guess, come out of the setting sun six months after the Event, on a sacred day and introduce himself as ‘Raven of the Sun,’ well… you can guess what they made of it.”
Kha-Hotep grinned. “Rumors spread like a Nile flood,” he said. “Some started saying Leila was the moon-spirit, and others said we were both god-children sent by the sun and moon.”
“So many weird coincidences—Alhamdulillah.” Leila shook her head. “That night the Cahokians celebrated as though they’d already won the war. We had to get stern with the remaining priests to keep them from sacrificing a dozen virgins in our honor. The next morning, we sent a nicely worded message in English to the mobsters, telling them if they happened to be running low on food and ammo, that we were willing to act as negotiators to cut a deal.”
Kha-Hotep laughed. “Poor Vito had no idea what to make of us.”
“He still doesn’t.” Leila grinned. “Anyway, we met with him. That was the first time we did our god-king act, using the translator, and it worked like a charm. We brokered a peace that’s lasted eight years, although it gets pretty shaky sometimes. After all—well, you saw the place—the Landing has attracted every kind of thug and lowlife from every shard up and down the river. Still, the end to the war sealed the deal with the Cahokians.”
“And so I became their king,” Kha-Hotep said, “and in time…” He took Leila’s hand and kissed it, locking eyes with her. “This woman became my queen, my sister, and my love.”
She smiled at their friends. “I had to—who could keep him out of trouble if I let him try to run a whole kingdom by himself?”
“You see how I have to suffer?” Kha-Hotep appealed to Cam, who grinned and shrugged. “Now, if I were Pharaoh, your head would have been lopped off your rebellious neck a hundred times over, woman!”
“Oh, like you’d last a day without me,” Leila scoffed. “Besides, who would save you from these monsters?”
Happy shrieks announced the arrival of a pair of giggling twin girls and a solemn boy in buckskins and an Egyptian scalp lock, accompanied by the mysterious cinnamon-skinned woman from before. She held the girls’ hands as the pair tugged her toward their parents.
“Light of my eyes!” Leila spread her arms wide to embrace them. “Did you two drag your poor auntie Josephine all the way here?”
Nodding, the girls laughed in triumph.
&
nbsp; “It was my pleasure,” the woman said with a smile, bending down to kiss Leila on the cheek.
“Nuh-uh!” one girl exclaimed. “She said she would eat us!”
“My goodness! Did she now?”
“Yes, she said she would gobble us up for being rotten!” the other reported happily. Josephine made tiger claws of her hands and growled at the twins, who again burst into squealing giggles.
“I’ll be damned!” Blake stared at her. “You’re… you’re Josephine Baker!” Cam and Harcourt stared at him. They had never seen the commando flustered before.
The young woman smiled. “Sorry, you’ve got the wrong girl,” she replied. “I’m Josephine McDonald, but it’s nice to meet you all the same, soldier. I do love a man in uniform.”
Blake tried to speak, but nothing came out. Cherished memories of wartime shows in Morocco came flooding back to him—staring at her as she dominated the stage in a dazzling evening gown, captivating entire regiments of soldiers, singing to every man in the audience as though her song was only for him.
“These silly monkey-birds are our girls,” Leila said, coming to his rescue. She lay a hand on each girl’s head. “This is Heba, and this is Amber.” By contrast, their older brother regarded the newcomers with a most serious expression. He had Leila’s eyes. Kha-Hotep lifted up his young son and sat him on his knee.
“And this is Enkati, named after his uncle.” He turned to the boy. “Show them how well you speak. How old are you now, my prince? Five?”
“My sisters are five! I am almost seven.”
“Indeed you are. Come, do you remember the story I told you, about the crocodile back in Egypt?” Enkati nodded. “This is my brother Cam, the man who saved us.”
The boy’s eyes grew large. “You killed a monster crocodile with a magic sword! Do you still have it?”
