Pekari -The Azure Fish

by Guenevere Lee

  “If they don’t just kill you,” Tersh gritted her teeth.

  “Yes…if they don’t kill me,” he smiled, but it didn’t last long on his face.

  “So we travel apart?” Tersh crossed her arms.

  “Yes.”

  “And then what?”

  “We will meet again in Nesate, but it’s important no one knows we are friends.”

  Friend. The word seemed to strike her. They’d been together so long, and she had thought of Tuthalya as someone met by random chance, a travelling companion, maybe even a co-conspirator. But friends? She felt herself smile.

  “Are we friends?”

  Tuthalya laughed. “If we weren’t, I would have killed you by now.”

  “Are you saying I’m annoying?” She narrowed her eyes in anger, but her smile only grew.

  “I’m saying you’re my friend,” he smiled in response.

  They left the dirt trail and headed north. Tersh couldn’t tell what they were heading towards. Their destination looked like more mountains to her, but Tuthalya had explained otherwise.

  “There’s a small trail there. It’s fairly easy to follow, and it will connect you back with the main pass to Nesate. From there, it will take you three or four days to reach Nesate.”

  She’d felt apprehension separating, of course. Was the pass really as easy to follow as Tuthalya assured her it was? What would she do if a rockslide blocked the way forward? Worse still, Tuthalya was taking the ram, so she’d have to carry her things again. They’d seemed heavier than she’d remembered them being.

  “How do you know about it?” Tersh looked at the mountains. There was no sign of a trail, but he couldn’t have just guessed it was there.

  “My cousin did his service here. He told me they would send out scouts to spy on the Queensfort using this trail.”

  “The Queensfort?”

  Tuthalya nodded. “Just at the entrance of the main pass, those bedswerving queens built a fort so close to Kuwais Salli you can throw spears back and forth at each other, though they don’t dare do more than stare across the gap, glowering.”

  Tersh’s frown only deepened.

  “Don’t look so sour. This pass will take you far from their fort and soldiers. You don’t need me, and anyway, you’ve travelled alone before,” Tuthalya had patted her shoulder reassuringly, and Tersh hadn’t the heart to correct him.

  She had never travelled alone before. She’d been alone of course. She spent her winter in Hattute in solitude, but going from place to place, she’d always been with her tribe, or with Kareth, or with Samaki and the Afeth’s crew, and finally with Tuthalya. She’d never faced a journey alone before, and she was ashamed by the apprehension she felt then.

  For all the anxiety she had felt in that moment though, the journey to Nesate had been without incident. The trail was extremely narrow and steep, and she could see why it wasn’t guarded, since you could only go single file. It was doubtful you’d be able to bring any supplies. Even her spear was more of a hindrance, whereas on the main pass she could use it as a walking stick. Eventually, she found herself on the wide pass heading north. Even if she hadn’t recognized it from the clear signs of people passing that way, the large weathered statue of a woman in armour would have told her to turn there.

  On the main road again, she was constantly concerned about coming upon soldiers guarding the way. All her worries were unfounded, and she made good time to Nesate Valley. But all that would not matter if these guards would not just step aside and let her in so she could fulfill her duties to the Goddess of Death. She could feel the human skull resting against her thigh, hidden under the folds of her cloak.

  In the distance, she noticed figures coming down the road towards her. Against the dark backdrop of the city walls they couldn’t be made out until they were as close as they were now. There were maybe four or five—one of them was riding an animal, a ram she realized, and from the glint of bronze weapons at their sides she assumed the others were soldiers.

  “Ahoy there!” a voice called when they were closer, and Tersh squinted in an effort to make out his face. She could tell the man had long black hair and wore a cloak, but more importantly, he was using familiar words. He could speak the tongue of Mahat. “You there! Mahat messenger!”

  “Ah, no. I’m not from Mahat!” Tersh called back, standing on her toes to call over the shoulders of the guards. “I only speak their tongue! I’m a Whisperer!”

  “Really? You shout well enough!” The man laughed at his own joke. Tersh could make him out better now. He wore dark crimson robes and rather than a helmet, wore a bronze circlet on his wavy dark hair. The guards finally stood aside to let her approach.

  Tersh grimaced. “I am a Whisperer of the Gods! I have travelled from the desert, for countless turns of the moon I’ve—” Tersh thought the man would stop, but the ram kept marching towards her, and Tersh had to back up or get trampled underneath.

  “Did you say the gods?” The man kept advancing on the ram, now circling around Tersh while the soldiers looked on in amusement.

  “Ah, yes,” Tersh said uncomfortably, continuously having to move aside or the flanks of the ram would push her over as it wound around her.

  “A Whisperer of the Gods?” The man frowned and looked towards the guards, saying something quickly, and then he pulled away from Tersh and steered the ram back towards the city.

  “Wait!” Tersh called after him, but a moment later she felt the arms of the soldiers grabbing her. She called out in protest, thinking they were just trying to keep her from advancing, but then one of them punched her hard in the stomach. As she doubled over in surprise, a coarse bag was pulled over her head.

  Blinded, she tried to fight back, but there were six men, and it was only a matter of time before her hands were tied behind her back and the bag secured around her neck with thick rope. They half pushed, half pulled her, forcing her to walk forward. She had no idea where they were going. Were they headed out of Nesate Valley, or towards the city of Nesate itself? She tried to calm herself down, but it was impossible with the scratchy bag over her head, which smelled of feed.

  She didn’t start to feel worried until the sunlight seemed to disappear. They had entered a room. The sounds of the footsteps changed, and Tersh guessed they were walking on stone. The air too seemed colder here. And just as she was getting used to the idea of them being inside a building, suddenly she was being forced down stairs. She couldn’t tell if the men were getting impatient with her fumbling footsteps, or if they just took advantage of the opportunity to be cruel, but suddenly she felt a sharp push on her back. Her foot couldn’t find the next step, and she was falling.

  She hit the steps, feeling the stiff corners dig into her leg, side, and cheekbone. She slid a little way before hands looped under her arms and started dragging her, her feet bouncing off the steps as they went. She could taste blood in her mouth, and the rest of her body throbbed in pain.

  She felt her cloak being pulled away, and although she screamed and swore, there was nothing she could do. They were ripping or pulling off everything she wore, until finally she was naked, with only the bag covering her face. The sudden cold started her shivering.

  Tersh was thrown, and once again, she landed hard, this time onto a damp stone floor. She heard a door close and then silence. She took a moment to lie there, to stretch out her legs and feel if they were all right. She was certainly in pain, but everything seemed to move fine. She tried to get up, but it was hard with her hands bound. She tried to wriggle out of the rope, but that only made the fraying cords cut into her skin, so she gave up and struggled just to stand.

  Standing in the quiet dark, she found the courage to call out, but when no one replied, she assumed she must be alone. She started walking forward, slowly, feeling the way with her feet. When she found the wall, she kept one shoulder against it until she found the closed door and kept going until she had felt all four walls. It was a small room, just enough space to stretch o
ut across it. She found the corner and slid down, trying to control her breathing.

  Was anyone going to come for her? Would they untie her hands, take this bag off her head? The bag frustrated her more than anything, the smell becoming more and more infuriating. She tried shaking it off her head, but that only pulled on the cord tying it around her neck. At one point, she pulled it too hard and felt the air cut off.

  She cursed at the door, wishing the Goddess of the Death would bring them all to an untimely end. The fools were only killing themselves by hurting her. They would suffer for this indignity. Part of her wondered if she should even bother trying to warn them about what was coming.

  And then the door opened.

  Her body went completely stiff. She could just make out the flickering light of a torch. Two men were speaking, and she heard something being dragged. From the sound it was wooden and not too heavy. As she tried to imagine what it must be, arms grabbed her. She struggled as much as she could as they dragged her forward on her knees. She felt the rope around her neck loosen, and for a moment, thought she was being untied but then they bound together her ankles. The ropes around her wrist were tightened and connected to her ankles and her neck, keeping her unable to get up from her knees without falling over.

  The hands let her go, and she heard the door close, though the torchlight still remained. When she thought she was alone again, she suddenly heard a cough. She turned her heard towards the sound and the bag was jerked off. Finally, she saw the damp filthy room where she had been left. Most of it was hidden in shadow, and she was thankful for that, because she was sure some of the stains on the wall were blood.

  Before her a man sat on a wooden bench, his face wavering in the light of the torch on the wall, the man who had been riding the ram. His face was an unmoving mask, but the dancing firelight made him look angry one moment and amused the next.

  “I am a Whisperer of the Gods, you cannot—”

  The man struck Tersh with the full force of the back of his hand across her face, directly on the spot that had hit the stairs. She fell to her side in shock and then felt the pain burn through her entire body. Before she had a chance to understand what had just happened, she felt someone standing behind her drag her to her knees again.

  “You do not speak for the gods,” the man spoke in a low voice, the shadows making him look like he was frowning…or maybe he was.

  “I never said I—”

  He hit her again, this time on the other side of the face. Tersh was ready for the impact this time and managed to keep herself steady and not fall over. When the man said nothing more, Tersh ventured to continue.

  “I am a Whisperer—”

  “Of the dead,” the man said quickly, and even though he hadn’t moved, Tersh still flinched as though expecting another slap. The shadows moving on the man’s face seemed to smile. “Only the Sisters speak for the gods. Why are you here?”

  The answer felt like a trap. If she told the man she was sent by the gods, surely he would hit her again, but she could not lie. “…My people sent me.”

  “The Whisperers?”

  “You speak the tongue of Mahat as though you were born there, but—”

  And this time the man did smile. “I do not have the complexion for it, do I?” His hand played with his beard a moment. “No, I am Matawega. My mother is the Mistress of Damais Tiessar, the Last Forest.”

  Tersh could only stare blankly. Were those words meant to impress her? Then why did the man look so bitter? Or was that only the shadows playing on his face, warping his look of pride into something hideous?

  “Are there forests in Matawe?”

  The man narrowed his eyes. “There is at least one. Why are you here?”

  “I need to speak to—”

  He hit her again. Even though it was not as hard as before, he hit the sore spot on her cheekbone and again, Tersh could taste blood in her mouth.

  “Stop hitting me!”

  The man nodded to the soldier behind her, and Tersh felt a swift kick impact her side. She screamed in pain, twisting in agony and falling to the ground as another kick hit her, followed by another, before the man held a hand up for him to stop. Tersh was dragged up to her knees, her body still contorting in pain. Spit dribbled from her mouth as she struggled to stay upright, though she couldn’t seem to stop shaking.

  “Why are you here?” The man looked calm, unfazed.

  “I…” What was the wrong word to say? She stuttered. “I need…I want… to… speak to the queens.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my people sent me—”

  “Why?”

  Tersh flinched as she was saying the words, knowing what was going to happen. “Because the gods—”

  The man hit her again, and although she tried with all her strength not to, the slap sent her to the ground. She wished she could just have a moment to lie on the dirt in pain. She thought maybe she could recover if she could only have a single moment, but sure enough she was quickly up-righted again. Shaking, she looked up at the man.

  “The gods are angry,” she glared at him.

  But this time, the man did not hit her. Instead he smiled. “The gods are always angry. Did you come to kill the Holy Sisters?”

  “What? No!”

  The man sighed and nodded at the soldier again, and again she felt the hard kicks to her side and back. She didn’t even remember falling over, but the next moment she knew she was lying limp on the ground whimpering. This time no one moved her.

  “I know about the Whisperers of the Dead, men who live in the desert with witches they take for brides. They drink the blood of those who become lost in the Sea of Sand.”

  Tersh could only moan. The words seemed so far away and so ridiculous. They might have made her laugh, if not for the pain making her entire body seize.

  “Sand people do not come to the mountains.”

  “I…was…sent—” her own words sounded far away.

  “Sand people do not know the mountain passes.”

  “I—”

  “Sand people do not sneak past the kings’ soldiers or the queens’ soldiers.”

  “The gods—”

  She felt a hand on her shoulder and tried to pull away, but it was useless. Then she noticed the hand was not attacking her, it almost seemed as though it was a gesture of comfort. The man was leaning over her, his face seeming to look concerned in the shadows.

  “You’re not even dressed like a sand person. Don’t you know they’re always naked?”

  And suddenly Tersh was laughing.

  “What?” The man frowned.

  “I am naked.”

  The man sighed, hanging his head slightly. “We’re going to have a long night.”

  THE MIDDLE SEA

  A GREAT KRAKEN ROSE UP FROM THE DEPTHS

  The wave was like a fist. Samaki lost his footing on the deck and felt the sea pull him, ready to swallow him whole. A hand grabbed his arm, though the rain blinded him, and he couldn’t make out whose hand it was. Flashes of lightning illuminated moments; men clinging to the masts and bulwarks to keep from being washed into the ruthless water, other men wrestling with the sails in an effort to tie them down, Tiyharqu at the stern, desperately gripping the rudder and screaming something that was lost in the sound of water pounding them.

  They were nearly back to safe shores when the storm had come. They had decided to sail directly for the Sephian Islands after leaving Caemaan. It would have been a much longer journey to head south and follow the coast but far safer. Safer. The word was a cruel laugh as the hand holding him slipped and Samaki was dragged away—but only for a moment. He slammed into the bulwark, his one arm screaming in pain as his other flailed about until it grasped a sturdy bench.

  Samaki had gone to sleep the night before with a smile on his face. In the morning, the clouds in the sky unsettled most of the men, but Samaki didn’t worry until the winds picked up, and by the time it had started to drizzle, Samaki knew there was
nothing to be done but make ready. You could not escape a storm. The same winds that were your salvation were the winds that blew the beast towards you.

  Another wave crashed over the deck, and Samaki heard a man scream, but he was blinded by the salt in his eyes. The ship lurched up, crashed down, and seemed to settle for a moment. Samaki scrambled to his feet, trying futilely to wipe his eyes with the corner of his soaking wet vest. With another flash of lightning, he saw that the sail on the main mast had become completely unfurled and slapped in the wind, as though the very hand of Neiston were trying to rip it off.

  He cursed his crew. They had had more than enough time to tie the sails securely; he had even ordered them to use extra rope. Had the damn fools listened? Did they know the proper knots to tie? They hadn’t taken on too many sailors in Caemaan, but those they had were young and inexperienced. He should have known better than to bring on such green men before a long voyage, but all he had been thinking about were the extra hands they needed to load their cargo so they could set off with the favourable winds.

  If I had missed the winds, I would have missed the storm, he had a moment to think bitterly before a wave pitched them up.

  The water was trying to turn them in one direction, while the wind seemed bent on them going the other. He heard the cracking, like a great rockslide, before he saw the mast give way. Everything seemed to calm down, to slow, as the mast cracked and splintered. He could see in impossible detail as shards of wood embedded themselves into the crew members who had been closest to the mast; a few screamed, and in their attempts to grab at their wounds they let go of the ship. Another swell crashed onto them, and they became waves.

  Samaki tried to dodge the oncoming water but was pushed aside by another surge of water. His body was swept past the broken mast, but he felt his leg slam into it. He screamed and his mouth filled with salty water. His hands gripped the benches along the ship, desperately pulling himself forward before the mast could pin him to the ship.

  He surfaced a moment later, gasping for air. For an instant of terror, he could see no one else left on the ship. Then came another flash of lightning, and he saw the hunched over figures cluttered around the smaller forward mast. Giving a triumphant holler was Tiyharqu, still holding the rudder, though it was clear from how much she was swaying that the rudder was broken.