“If the gods are angry,” Yupanchi reasoned, “I believe Huwamanpellpe’s refusal to sacrifice is the reason.”
Sha’di wanted to interrupt, but he was worried his words would come out slurred. He had never heard the name Huwamanpellpe before, nor had he spoken to anyone about the Ellpe. In the beginning, it was simply a language barrier, and then after Tanuk had died, his confusion over the Ellpe had simply fallen from his mind. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the sacrifices she was refusing to commit, but if it was the human sacrifices he had witnessed in Chultun, then maybe it was for the best. The god’s wrath had to have come from somewhere, and Sha’di was certain they wanted the sacrifices to stop. Tanuk had followed the Petzuhallpa’s ways. Twice a sacrifice was made, once a man and once just a young boy, and despite this, the gods put a jaguar on Tanuk’s path. The gods were angry and would punish those who had offended them.
“Xa’ti must meet with the huitls in Chipetzuha,” Tenok urged.
Yupanchi laughed, his head falling backwards, making his beaded headdress rustle against his stone throne. “We don’t need a messenger from the gods; we just need that vixen wedded and bedded. Can you convince a god to marry, Whisperer?”
Convince a god to marry? He wouldn’t even know where to begin.
“I…I’m just a messenger,” Sha’di muttered to himself as a servant scuttled over and poured more wine into his already full cup, so the dark red liquid splashed onto his hands and stained his skin.
Travellers and locals mingled, sharing news of the region or stories of their travels. Sha’di remained silent, staring into his cup and wondering if there was more to his purpose than just pleading with the lords to follow the old ways. After all, if there was strife in the land, maybe that’s what he had to solve to please the gods.
“Xa’ti, you should come and speak with Xaltonatl,” Tenok said, breaking him out of his reverie. “The better the huitls know you, the better they’ll listen to you.”
Sha’di let himself be led through the crowd, but he wasn’t sure if Tenok was right. Maybe the better the huitls knew him, the better they would understand he had no idea what he was doing. But he had no doubt men like Yupanchi would want to use him for whatever their purpose was.
“Ah, I see you’ve met Belam,” Tenok said as they saw the atl laughing at one of Belam’s jokes.
“Yes, your men from Chultunyu are fascinating. He was telling me how he bested an anaconda on the Nupemo.”
“He bested an anaconda?” Sha’di asked skeptically.
“I seem to recall something about Qayset’s spear that night,” Tenok winked.
“Oh, so now you want to talk about how good spears are?” Belam leaned towards the atl, feigning whispering in secret. “Tenok is a great defender of the sling over any other weapon.”
“I happen to find it more efficient,” Tenok smiled.
“I’m not much of a warrior,” Yupanchi said pleasantly, “but I do like the simplicity of a sling. Maybe you could give us a demonstration.”
Tenok laughed politely. “I think my friends have had enough of my demonstrations for one journey,” but he took his sling out, holding it tenderly. “Besides, I’m far from the best at using one.”
“If anything is at fault it isn’t your ability, but the sling,” Belam went to grab the sling from Tenok, but he quickly pulled back defensively.
Belam laughed. “I mean no offence. It’s just old, is all. You ought to get a new one.”
“Yes, it’s uh,” Tenok put it away, clearing his throat. “It’s just my father gave me this the day he left. Told me to practice, so the next time we met…” he shook his head, smiling sadly. “Anyway, this one suits me just fine.”
“Well, when I tell your father how easily you can hit a spider on a tree, I’m sure he’ll be well proud of you,” Belam patted Tenok’s back.
Tenok smiled, but his eyes stayed distant.
NEPATA
YOU’RE ONLY IN THE WAY HERE
There was a rhythm to his days—a soft pounding of a drum. Wake up. Eat bread. Grind herbs. Go piss. Plant herbs. Eat bread. Go piss. Go sleep. Wake up. Eat bread. Pluck geese. Gut fish. Go piss. Grind herbs. Eat bread. Go piss. Go sleep. It was endless. It was mind-numbing, but it was the only thing that gave Kareth any comfort. He didn’t have to think anymore; he only needed to act.
At that moment, he was grinding herbs, probably the thing he did most often. If he could read, he might have been given the task of mixing herbs or copying scrolls, but he was only good as a pair of hands. He was an apprentice in name only. Dedelion had no intention of teaching him, had never had any intention of teaching him.
Kareth reached into the jar for another stick of cinnamon, but his hand found only air. He stared at the empty jar for a moment, the momentum of his day suddenly cut off. He’d been told to grind five sticks, but he’d only ground four. For a moment, he considered letting it be, just pushing the mortar aside and moving on to the next task, but just as suddenly as he had that thought, the cold fear crept into his mind and squeezed. Dedelion would know, and the others wouldn’t hesitate to gleefully inform their master who had made the mistake.
“I’m out of cinnamon,” he said quietly, his voice flickering like a candle. The other apprentices either didn’t hear or were simply ignoring him. “I need more cinnamon,” his voice was a door creaking open and interrupting your nap, and this time Sebkay looked at him in annoyance.
“Then go get some, you empty-headed lake fish,” he snarled, and went back to copying the scroll in front of him.
Kareth went slowly, feeling the relief he always had when he had a moment alone. In Imotah’s home, he loved being around the other servants, loved listening to their stories and joining in their conversations—when they’d let him. But here the servants were dour and quiet. The time he had to himself going between one place and another was the only time he didn’t feel anxious.
Kareth had lost track of the days, of meals, of everything around him. Sebkay and Imotey mostly ignored him now. At first, they continued goading him on or playing tricks on him. He had stopped listening to them, stopped speaking to them, and they had become bored and turned their attention back to Natef.
Sometimes Kareth felt sorry for Natef, but most of the time, he felt too angry to feel sorry for someone else. He would stare at himself, hating the very sight of his own flesh. Kareth hated himself for being in this situation, for being at the mercy of Delelion. He should have run from Imotah the moment he’d told Kareth to go with the sorcerer. He could have asked Yunet for help. He could have taken his chances by himself. But he’d stayed.
Whenever Kareth saw Dedelion now he shuddered involuntarily. Worse still, whenever Dedelion noticed his discomfort, the shadow of a smile crept across the man’s face, and Kareth felt sick. He could still feel the cold stone surface against the skin of his back as though he were still chained to that table, pleading to the uncaring man for mercy. He always managed to push the thoughts away, to forget what might have happened. He would have been able to forget that night had happened at all if not for the scar.
Kareth could still remember Natef telling him the morning after. He had woken up naked and cold on the floor on their room, his entire body stiff with pain, dried blood still crusted to the head of his penis. “It makes you pure. I had it done when I was very little, everyone who serves the gods does.”
It made Kareth sick every time he looked down and saw the angry red scar. A piece of him had been stolen, a piece of him that Dedelion would use in some potion or conjurers’ trick. He wondered how many more pieces Dedelion would take before…before what? He wasn’t going anywhere. Surely they meant to keep him until he died, never to see the Paref, never to warn him about the gods’ wrath.
Kareth arrived in the kitchens, which were busy and crowded but devoid of all conversation. The kitchen master was a short, plump man with a chin like a rooster’s that hung down and wobbled when he spoke.
“What do you want?” he
asked in annoyance as Kareth entered.
Kareth meekly held the empty jar up. “Cinnamon.”
The kitchen master muttered something under his breath and grabbed one of the young kitchen boys who was walking past. “Get the apprentice some cinnamon, boy.”
“Y-yes master,” the boy stammered and quickly ran off.
Kareth melted against the wall, his eyes and ears keenly aware of everything around him. A stew was being stirred in a large brass pot in one corner, a few young girls were chopping vegetables and gossiping in hushed tones, bread was being sliced and arranged on platters by a team of young boys who all looked uncomfortable. In another room, Kareth heard someone chopping meat; the sound of the blade cutting through flesh and thumping into hard wood shook him with every blow.
“Where’s the damn fish?” one man called from the meat room, and a moment later a thin, bald head peeked into the main kitchen. “The master ordered fish today, where’s the fish?”
The kitchen master growled. “You, boy,” he stomped over to one of the boys arranging bread. “I told you to go to the market for fish.”
“Yes, master, but you told me to go after I—”
“You worthless fool…the fish won’t be fresh if you don’t go early!” He slapped the boy upside the head, and he immediately cowered with apologies.
“I’m sorry. I’ll go right away, of course! It will never happen again!” He moved to get away so fast he tripped, fell, and then scrambled to his feet and headed out the door.
Kareth felt jolted. The boy was slightly younger than he, if not slightly and annoyingly taller; yet the kitchen master was telling him he could leave, that he could walk out the walls of this house. How? The doors to the outside were always locked. The windows all had bars on them. How, in the view of the goddesses, was this boy able to leave?
“Uh, apprentice, sir,” the boy with the jar of cinnamon stepped in his way. “Here.”
Kareth grabbed the bottle in annoyance and quickly rushed past the boy, following the other out of the kitchen. At first, he didn’t see where he’d gone but then caught a glimpse of the young man rushing around the corner and followed. He reached the corner and peeked around. The young man reached a door, next to which was a series of keys hanging on the wall and a bored looking guard sitting on a small, wooden bench. The kitchen boy grabbed one of the keys and unlocked the door, and just as soon as the door was open, he slammed it shut. Kareth heard the echo of the lock being turned again by the guard. He’d only had a moment to see, but he could tell the door led to the street, probably to a small alley. It was the way out.
He took a shaky step forward and then another. The guard leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. Kareth stared at the key still swinging slightly after being unceremoniously shoved back on the wooden peg. The servant and the guard hadn’t shared a single word; he hadn’t been forced to give any explanation. All he needed to do was take the key and open the door and he’d never have to come back to this place.
“Isn’t your master waiting on that cinnamon?” A low voice cut through the silence, and Kareth turned to see the kitchen master standing with his arms crossed before his chest, his neck wobbling like a pendulum.
“Yes,” Kareth’s voice sounded more like a moan than a reply. He scurried past the man, keeping his head down, clutching the jar of cinnamon so hard he thought it might crack in his hands.
Wherever he went, he was being watched. No one had told him, he had no proof, but everywhere he went, another servant would just happen to be there as well. He’d go to the garden to cut fresh herbs and someone would be there already. He’d walk down the hall from one place to another, and a guard would be walking past him in the opposite direction.
He thought about that door constantly. Thought about how easy it would be to walk past the guard, if only he could get his hands on one of the servant’s tunics. He was certain the guard wouldn’t pay attention to his face, as long as his clothing didn’t give him away as an apprentice. Of course, the question of where to go if he managed to do all this kept him awake at night. He knew going back to Imotah was not an option, though of course, he would have to go see Mistress Ankhet to get his cloak back. Would Yunet help him? Take him on as an apprentice? Let him sleep on the rushes of her floor? She had to, because if she didn’t…then he may as well stay where he was. Would the Paref really meet with someone living on the streets? He doubted he had enough trinkets to bribe his way into the Paref’s palace.
“Kareth,” Sebkay was looking at him with his usual sneer.
Kareth put aside the sheets of papyrus he was binding together to make a scroll and looked up at him. These days, Sebkay only ever acknowledged him if he had some unpleasant task he could joyfully command him to do.
“Master Dedelion is too busy to take his afternoon meal in the hall. Take it to him,” he motioned vaguely to the table behind him where a servant was placing a copper tray filled with dried fruits, steaming bread, grilled fish, and a flagon of mead.
He knew Sebkay was trying to insult him—to say he was no better than a servant—but Kareth already knew that, and even if he didn’t, an insult couldn’t have hurt him at this point. It wasn’t the insult that worried Kareth. Kareth’s eyes went wide, and he realized he must be trembling because Sebkay gave him a triumphant smile before he turned away, thinking his insult had been cleverly played.
“Take it to him,” Kareth shuddered. Take it to Dedelion, alone in his room. Go and be with that man—alone.
Kareth tried to steady himself before lifting the tray, worried that if he were to spill it, he’d be spending the rest of his day alone with Sebkay, in a different room, a room with a stone table and bare walls…He felt sick, and he closed his eyes, making a silent prayer to the Goddess of Life.
The tray was heavier than it looked, and he had to walk slowly. It seemed like it would take forever to reach Dedelion’s room. He wished he could walk faster, to just get there and leave and be done with it already. He wondered if Dedelion had asked him to do this, or if it had just been Sebkay’s idea as a way of slighting him. It didn’t really matter. He doubted he could detest the either of them more than he already did.
Finally, he was there, staring into the open door, seeing Dedelion at his wide wooden desk making quick marks on papyrus, a pile of which were messily strewn about the surface and on the floor by his feet. The entire room was messy, scrolls and clothing helter-skelter on the floor, the linen on his bed scrunched up, unlit candles knocked over, and bits of unfinished food left in bowls in nearly every corner. Dedelion did not let the servants come in to clean, it seemed.
As he looked around the room, taking in this disaster where he had expected to find the meticulous order that every other part of Dedelion’s home displayed, he finally noticed the hook just to his right on the inside of the door, and the wide key ring that hung there. And he knew those keys. Those were the keys Dedelion had pulled from his robes to unlock that room…
“What do you want?” Dedelion suddenly said, squinting up at Kareth from across the table.
Kareth nearly dropped the tray, and his eyes instantly shot down, concentrating hard on the floor in front of him. “They said…That is you wanted…I—”
“Ah…lunch,” and Kareth heard Dedelion stand up. The dishes on the tray rattled as Dedelion walked towards him. “Thank you.”
Dedelion’s bony hands wrapped around Kareth’s fingers as he took hold of the tray. Kareth wanted to throw the tray away, to pull his hands free and run, but he couldn’t move. He just kept staring down at the floor, at Dedelion’s midnight black robe, feeling the bones of Dedelion’s fingers dig into his flesh. And then he heard Dedelion laugh, and the man pulled the tray away and left Kareth standing there with his arms still outstretched.
“You can go,” Dedelion said, his voice light.
Kareth felt his feet move by themselves, and he followed them, not knowing where he was going until he saw the hallway with the door leading outside before
him. He must have been walking awhile, but he felt as though he had simply stepped out of Dedelion’s room and into the hall where the guard was staring at him suspiciously. He kept moving, turning the corner and going into the kitchen.
“What do you want?” The kitchen master snapped.
Kareth came out from his daze. “Master Dedelion wanted to thank you,” he said quickly, trying to smile, but his face felt stiff. “He said the bread was excellent today.”
“Oh, did he?” He either didn’t believe him or didn’t care. “Move along then. You’re only in the way here.”
Kareth turned to leave and only had a moment to notice a few plain cloaks hanging from pegs by the door. He felt as though someone had slapped him awake, and he started walking faster to get back to his work. The cloaks must have been for someone going out late at night, when the air was cool. At night, when very few people would be walking the halls, when any guard watching the door would be half asleep and might not notice if the person walking past them had a black apprentice’s tunic on underneath their cloak.
He would have gone that very night. He got as far as climbing out of his bed and walking to the doorway that led to the dim hall, but as he stared into the shadows, he didn’t know where he was going. Oh yes, he knew the way to the kitchen to get one of the cloaks and then to the door. That was easy. But after. Where would he go? What if he tried to get in touch with Ankhet, and Imotah heard he was nearby and sent him back to Dedelion? What if Yunet refused to take him in? He was desperate to be away from this place, but he had been charged by the gods to deliver a message to the Paref of Mahat, and if he left here, he might fail in that.
He went back to his bed, though sleep never came for him that night. He spent the next day in a daze, losing concentration during simple tasks. At one point, Imotey smacked the back of his head when he stared at the wall too long, and Sebkay and him laughed about it. Kareth wished he had the power to conjure up a curse. He imagined something like that existed in the scrolls Dedelion kept in that room, behind the secret door.
Pekari -The Azure Fish Page 19
