Pekari -The Azure Fish

by Guenevere Lee

  “Fine, take a wife, take a baby. I give everything. Do I get my simple life?”

  She shrugged. “You should ask the gods.”

  He waited as long as he could then stumbled over himself to speak. “I have brought many riches from the lands of Hattute, Nepata, and Serepty.”

  “What kinds of riches?” she demanded.

  “Precious stones. Weapons,” he smiled as he answered.

  “Weapons,” she said thoughtfully, taking another draw of redey. “And what do you want in return?”

  “Food,” he said simply, and she smiled again. This time she did not hide her black teeth.

  Food and medicine. Those were the only things Samaki knew he could bring back with him. The great wave had destroyed the crops in the Sea Mahat, and he had no doubt that the Sephian Islands would shift their focus from silks and wines to trading grains and food with Mahat. There would be a high demand for such things. He also had no doubt that Mahat would soon have disease and pestilence because they did not have enough food for the masses. He needed wheat, oats, and barley to bring back; these were the only things the people now truly needed and would be desperate to trade for.

  With the amount of cargo he’d brought with him, he’d had more than enough to fill the hold with foodstuff, and then some. Farrahd’s exotic wife had to give him a purse full of golden coins stamped with the face of their king, a large-nosed man he didn’t care enough about to learn the name, but sang his praises as he took another swing of their strong and bitter beer.

  They were making their way back to the ship singing, drunk and bleary-eyed from all the redey smoke. Night had fallen, but the city was just as alive as during the day. The children and women were at home, but the men and whores were rampant in the streets and Samaki and Tiyharqu blended into a crowd of intoxication and bacchanalia.

  Maybe he’d even be able to trade goods between the Sephian Islands. Or maybe he could think about finding a wife, one of their busty, golden-haired women. Or she could be sandy-haired, his fantasy changed appearances every time he passed a different woman on the streets. All that mattered was that for the first time in a year, Samaki felt content and secure that things were finally getting better.

  “To the golden king!” he bellowed, nearly losing his balance until Tiyharqu steadied him.

  “To our benefactor!” Tiyharqu roared.

  “We won’t have to buy one villa now. We’ll be able to buy two!” Samaki laughed. He imagined even Postes would drool over how much he had accrued since their last business venture.

  “Oh no, no, no.” Tiyharqu stopped walking and would have looked very serious in thought if not for her slightly cross-eyed gaze. “That is much too lonely. Obviously, we should buy one villa, live together, and buy another villa together in Mahat,” she laughed with a voice so loud Samaki was worried for a moment they would wake the entire city, but then he took another swig of the beer and didn’t care.

  “A fine id-idea indeed! And then, we should just buy the palace from that sniveling little Paref!” Samaki laughed. “When my father finds out I’ve bought the palace, he’ll…he’ll—”

  Samaki hiccupped, looked at the ground, forgot what he was trying to say, and then burst into laughter once more.

  NEPATA

  YOU ARE NOTHING WITHOUT ME

  “May Knefut give you floppy ears, boy! You think the babies are going to wait for you to grind those herbs before they come out. Hurry, hurry!” Yunet waved her arms impatiently, hovering over Kareth, who was indeed taking his time grinding the herbs.

  They were in Yunet’s small house, Kareth was in the corner, surrounded by an assortment of herbs and precious organs that had been dried or pickled.

  “Honestly boy, I’ve seen grazing cattle move faster.”

  Kareth emptied his contents together in a bowl, mixing it one final time. “Finished!” he said triumphantly.

  “Oh? Finished? What does it smell like?”

  “Um,” he lifted the bowl to his nose and took a sniff. “A camel’s behind,” he said with a smirk. He’d come to learn that was normal for this particular pain remedy.

  “Let me…” She took the bowl roughly from him and sniffed it. Her nose instantly wrinkled in disgust. It wasn’t the smell that had bothered her, though. He had obviously made a mistake. She smacked the back of his head, not hard, but enough to make him wince with disappointment anyway. “You forgot the crocodile testicles—again.”

  “But, this time I was sure to remember…” he trailed off, seeing the dried pair of testicles still on the table, behind one of the bottles of oils he’d been using.

  “Faster,” she barked again as Kareth ground the testicles into the mixture as quickly as he could. He got the sense that Yunet enjoyed yelling at him. Her eyes always smiled whenever she yelled.

  Before he could turn around to say he was finished again, she nodded and grabbed the bowl, dumping it into a small ceramic container that she tied a cloth around to carry to her appointment.

  “Good, take your beer and run along. I won’t need you tomorrow, but come the day after.” And with that she was out the door.

  Kareth was used to having to put out the oil lamps and clean everything up on his own. Yunet had left a large cup of beer for him—his payment for the day’s work. He drank it hungrily, gnashing the lumpy bits up between his teeth. Yunet’s beer was far better than what he was served at Imotah’s, which led him to believe the tzati heavily watered it down.

  With his beer done and a lightness in his head, he cleared off the small work table, putting away the herbs and bowls. When he’d first come to Yunet, he’d thought she’d wanted him there because she wanted his innate talent at mixing medicines, but quickly learned the only thing that interested Yunet about him was the fact that he was a Whisperer. She told him just touching the herbs infused some of the Rhagepe’s power into everything. He didn’t mind, so long as he learned something, he was happy.

  He left Yunet’s hovel and made his way through the darkened streets. Kareth enjoyed this time of day in the city. Most people were already home, so the streets were quiet, and with the sun gone the air was refreshing and cool. The canals were deeper than usual, swelled from the melting mountain snows that flooded the Hiperu River this time every year. The sound of rushing water echoed around the mud-brick homes as he walked between them.

  He took his time as he walked, not excited about having to go back to his life as a servant. Stables or kitchens, it didn’t matter, he was still nothing in the eyes of the people of Mahat. In this part of town, he fit in well with his simple tunic, but when he reached the rich villas where Imotah lived, people passing would refuse to notice him or turn their noses up and sneer down at him.

  It troubled him that since coming to Imotah’s home, his station in life hadn’t changed. Imotah was supposed to help him win an audience with the Paref. It was the only reason he stayed there instead of working full time for Yunet. That, and Yunet had never actually offered Kareth a place in her home, so if Kareth left Imotah’s, he would be on the streets. The thought of that frightened him. These days there were too many people living on the streets—refugees from the Sea Mahat who had lost everything when the great wave came.

  Another will come if you don’t see the Paref soon, Kareth thought he could hear Tersh’s serious voice warning him.

  The alleys widened into boulevards lined with trees and statues of leopards who had the faces of men. The stony eyes stared intently at him, as though weary of his presence. Maybe he fooled most people in Mahat into believing he was one of them by shaving his head and wearing their dress, but the gods knew he did not belong there.

  Guards wearing nemes and pleated skirts nodded as he passed through the gates to Imotah’s home. They were more alert than usual. Imotah was having a banquet, and obviously, the guards needed to look their best. Kareth couldn’t tell if the guests had already arrived, but the main building of the estate was lit up more than he’d ever seen before, and he could hear mus
ic coming from inside. He sighed, knowing he would probably be getting a lecture from Mistress Ankhet for not being back sooner to help.

  Kareth took the long way around, not wanting to cut across the gardens like he normally did in case a guest saw him, and he was reprimanded. The entrance to the servant’s quarter was abuzz with activity. He was nearly knocked down by one of the stable boys who ran out of the entrance, who, rather than apologize, shouted back at him that he should watch where he was walking.

  Inside, the halls were cramped with people running around, grabbing gold platters, and filling them with exquisite meats, garnished with herbs and fruits. He nearly knocked over one man carrying a dish with a large fish that had been cut open and lain flat surrounded by small flat breads shaped like swimming fish. The man said something that sounded nasty, but Kareth didn’t understand, and he moved off with the platter.

  “Kareth!” Mistress Ankhet snapped. Her tone surprised him, one that was even angrier than he’d expected, and he prepared himself for her lecture.

  “I’m sorry, I—” Kareth didn’t have a chance to explain himself because Ankhet stormed over to him and practically threw a pitcher of wine into his arms.

  “Upstairs, now. Come back for refills and do—not—dawdle!” Then she turned and barked orders at someone else.

  Kareth had a moment’s hesitation. He hadn’t been upstairs since first arriving there with Samaki. Then, he had been a guest, sleeping in a lavish room with furnishings so rich he could have stared at them for days. A part of him had believed, or hoped, that he would stay in those rooms the entire time he lived in Nepata. His own naïveté embarrassed him, and his face was flushed with heat as he made his way down one corridor and up the stone steps that led to the main house.

  The corridors below were barely wide enough for two people to walk down side-by-side and anyone taller than Kareth—which was every man he’d met in Mahat—had to stoop because the ceilings were so low. Upstairs, however, the halls were wide and airy, lined with torches that illuminated the beautiful frescoes, which had been painted with ancient Parefs sitting on their massive thrones, inspecting the spoils of war and crops from prosperous harvests.

  Kareth followed the line of servants making their way to the largest room in the building, making their way past narrow windows covered in light silk that rippled as the night breeze moved through the corridors. The grand room they entered could have been mistaken for a throne room. He’d overheard some of the servants gossiping that it had been designed specifically to be larger than the Paref’s actual throne room, though Kareth had no way of confirming this.

  Yet, he reminded himself.

  The guests had indeed all arrived. The room was filled with people wearing gold or jewelled wigs. The men and women looked nearly identical, wearing the same sorts of long, flowing robes that wound around their bodies. They also wore so much jewellery around their necks and arms that Kareth wondered if it was hard for them to move. Their faces were done up with makeup, dark lines drawn around their eyes, bright grape and crocodile colour splashed on their eyelids and cheeks.

  There weren’t any tables, but there were many cushions and benches where the guests could recline and sit. There were musicians in one of the corners, their stringed instruments and drums giving the conversation around him a rhythm. He heard several people call out to him. “Wine boy!” or “You, with the jug!” and he would go over and diligently fill their cups.

  He ran out of wine before he’d barely taken ten steps into the room, and just like that, he was running back to the kitchens to refill and come back. When he entered a second time, he tried to avoid anyone who looked like they needed a refill, wanting to stay and enjoy the atmosphere a little longer. Everyone was so happy, smiling and laughing. He wondered if he would ever be a guest at a party like this, wearing so much gold he could barely move.

  Kareth could smell Imotah before he saw him. Imotah clearly bathed in perfumes, the kinds you would only expect to find on the richest of courtesans. Kareth meant to turn away, but Imotah locked eyes with him and a look of recognition crossed over his face. He smiled, waving him over.

  “This is my little pet from the desert.” Imotah’s words were slurred. He was reclining on some cushions on a dais, and a few of his closest acquaintances were sitting near him, laughing at his every word. Imotah put a hand on his arm and Kareth had to fight the urge to pull away. “I promised his mother, or whoever, I’d help him out. And didn’t I keep my promise?”

  “You got me a meeting with the Paref?” Kareth asked with fake hopefulness. He knew that Imotah hadn’t, but the thought of embarrassing Imotah just then greatly appealed to him.

  Imotah’s smile was gone in an instant, replaced with the same sneer Kareth often received in the streets. He realized he shouldn’t have said anything, and for a terrible instant he feared Imotah would throw him out then and there, and he’d never have a chance of seeing the Paref again. Perhaps sensing the uneasiness, one of the guests spoke up.

  “Why would the Paref want to speak to you?” The man was fat and his lapis robe and golden armbands seemed slightly too tight on him. His wig, made of fine silver braids, was cocked slightly to the side, and his eyes were rolling around, unable to focus. “The young Paref doesn’t even want to speak to me!”

  Everyone laughed, including Imotah, and just like that the tension was gone.

  “Come, come.” Imotah held up his golden cup to Kareth, giving him a hard glance, though his smile remained. “Everyone is allowed to feel special once in a while. Isn’t that so?”

  “Are you special, boy?” a woman asked. She was older, with lines on her otherwise beautiful face, and he could see her sagging breasts through the sheer fabric of her sunset gown.

  For a moment, he wasn’t sure how to answer. He looked at Imotah, but Imotah only looked back with a face that showed he enjoyed Kareth’s discomfort.

  “Yes, I am,” Kareth tried to stand up straighter as he said it, but they laughed as though he’d just told the funniest joke along the Hiperu.

  “By the gods,” the fat man said with exaggerated interest. “Are you really?”

  “He does have stunning eyes,” the woman said, squinting her own dark cinnamon eyes and leaning forward to stare at him.

  “He does indeed,” Imotah said, giving Kareth a strange look as he took a long sip of his wine. When the cup came away from his lips they were stained red.

  “Well? Out with it boy. Why are you worthy to speak to the Paref? Why should you be allowed the step foot in the presence of a god?” the fat man asked, slightly less jovially than before.

  “I—” Kareth couldn’t focus. Suddenly the noise in the room was too loud, and there were so many people he felt as if he couldn’t move.

  “Rumour has it he sees the future in his dreams,” Imotah remarked as he turned to the others and laughed. “Or, so my servants tell me.”

  “Can you really, boy?” a new voice asked. This unsmiling man was standing and looked underdressed compared to the others. His head was completely bald, though he wore a fake beard on his chin. He wore a gown that was so dark it was almost black, and other than a single emerald ring, he wore no jewellery. It was hard to tell if the man was young or old, but his voice was low, like stones dragging against each other, and he looked like he had strong hands.

  “Kareth, do you know who this man is?” Imotah asked, obviously knowing the answer would be no. Kareth meekly shook his head. “This man is a sorcerer. Tell him how many times you’ve seen the Paref, Dedelion.”

  Dedelion cleared his throat and smirked. “I cannot count the times the Paref has called on me.”

  “What do you do?” Kareth asked with a shaky voice.

  “Sebkay!” Dedelion clapped his hands and a short young man appeared at his side as though he’d been conjured from air. The young man was obviously a servant, though clearly of a higher station than Kareth, wearing a black tunic with silver armbands and a fine tawny wig. He held out an empty gold
bowl, bowing his head and bending over so he was even lower than the seated guests.

  “I tell the Paref the future.” He threw something into the bowl, and it sizzled as smoke wafted out. Then, Dedelion reached in and pulled out a small grey petrel. The bird bobbed its head up and down as Dedelion patted its head. “I perform great feats,” his smile curled cruelly as he suddenly took hold of the bird’s head and ripped it off.

  The circle gasped, and Dedelion threw the body and head into the bowl. He took out a small lime vial from his robes and he poured it in. There was a burst of fire and the petrel—whole and alive once more—flew out in a panic. Everyone watching ooed and applauded, but Kareth just stared with wide, silver eyes, his jaw hanging open ever so slightly.

  “Would you like to know your future, boy?” Dedelion leaned forward, and shadows filled his hollow cheeks.

  Kareth narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “Yes.”

  “Do you think you’re very brave?” Dedelion chuckled. “Very well.”

  With a great flourish, Dedelion placed the gold bowl, with no signs of the blood or fire, in the centre of the small circle. He held out his hand to Sebkay, who quickly placed a golden knife into his bony grasp. The blade was not straight but wavy, and the hilt had a ruby encrusted in it.

  “Give me your hand.”

  The guests tittered in amusement as Kareth stepped forward, putting the jug of wine aside and holding his hand out. He was shaking, he realized. Dedelion took his hand with little tenderness, and just as Kareth was about to change his mind, Dedelion ran the knife across Kareth’s palm and squeezed tightly, letting drops of blood fall into the bowl. Dedelion was holding on so tightly he let out a whimper of pain.

  Smoke rose from the bowl—dark smoke, black and amethyst, and then bright cobalt. The smoke seemed to surround Dedelion, whose eyes suddenly rolled back and his head began to loll on his neck. His grip on Kareth’s hand tightened. Kareth tried to pull away, but Dedelion was too strong.