Pekari -The Azure Fish

by Guenevere Lee

  “The winner is given glory. There needs to be a balance, understand? You must win for the honour of it, not for prizes. Otherwise, the sanctity of the sport would be compromised.”

  Belam looked convinced this made sense, but to Sha’di it seemed ridiculous. The Whisperers had feasts and contests of course, but when it came to a race or a feat of strength, the winner was always given something as reward—a weapon, a good pelt, or the best cut of meat from that day’s hunt. He imagined he would have tried to lose if at the end he would have had to give up something. Living in the desert was humbling enough.

  “Maarku-chakatl of Ixk’inmetzu, I think your sacrifice is obvious. If you win, you must give your long locks of hair to the gods.”

  Maarku’s face remained smiling, but his eyes seemed to tighten slightly. Sha’di snickered, imagining he would look a lot like Qayset if he were to cut his hair. Though if he’d said that to Qayset, she probably would have given him a punch in the arm.

  Yupanchi whispered something in Tahuan-huitl’s ear. “Ah, a fine idea! Tenok-huitl of Chultunyu, I hear you have a favourite weapon. A sling.”

  “My sling?” Tenok laughed. “It’s hardly an impressive thing. Not something worthy of a sacrifice to the gods.”

  “No? I hear it was a gift from your father, the last before he left for Chipetzuha all those years ago.”

  Tenok’s face lost a little of its colour. His mouth opened, but he said nothing, and closed it again.

  The huitl laughed. “Yes, your father’s sling it is!” He clapped and the two men took their positions.

  They both put their right hand on the other man’s shoulder and placed their left hand on the other’s waist. They looked at each other intently, breathing slowly, waiting for the call to begin. The entire crowd became silent, leaning in slightly in anticipation. The huitl took a step forward, clapping his hands. “Begin!”

  Everyone broke out into cheers, some calling out Tenok’s name, but most cheering for Maarku over and over again. The two men struggled together a moment, trying to push and pull at each other, their feet trying to hook behind the other man’s knee. Sha’di thought they would stay like that forever, but then Maarku managed to get his leg around Tenok and pushed forward, and soon Tenok was falling onto his back.

  Tenok, not looking defeated in the least, grabbed onto Maarku’s arm, dragging him down with him. As they both fell, they tried to wrap their arms around the other’s neck. They hit the ground, Maarku falling hard on top of Tenok, who winced in pain, but had managed to lock his arm around the larger man’s neck and was now trying to twist Maarku’s flailing arm behind his back.

  Maarku twisted like an anaconda trying to escape Tenok’s grip, but Tenok wouldn’t let up, and soon Maarku’s face turned red from the effort. He gasped as his airway was cut off. Tenok managed to get Maarku’s arm behind his back and had his legs wrapped around Maarku’s so that only his right arm was free, yet useless to free himself with. Maarku struggled a moment longer, but then with the sour look of defeat on his face, he began to slap his free hand on the ground, signifying his surrender.

  The match had barely lasted the single beat of a heart, and Sha’di thought people would be disconnected. But it must have been a typical contest because everyone was roaring with cheers, though now the only name anyone called out was Tenok’s.

  “Is it always so short?” Sha’di had to yell over the crowd.

  “Only if the men are unmatched in skill. Maarku has strength but clearly no strategy!”

  “You think he wanted lose?”

  “What?”

  “Wanted to lose!”

  Belam roared with laughter. “If he lost just to keep his hair, he’s more of a dunce than I could have ever imagined!”

  The two men got to their feet, a stiff smile on Maarku’s face, but Tenok was laughing and cheering. The crowd surrounded them, slapping Tenok on the back and offering him more drinks than he could hold, while Maarku slowly walked away back to the dais, his empty cup waiting for him.

  Everyone continued to celebrate for a while longer, and by the time the crowd settled down, Tenok was swaying from all the drinks he’d had in quick succession. Tahuan-huitl made his way through, clapping and laughing, but when he reached the victor he cleared his throat and became somber once more.

  “Tenok-huitl, truly the Nuktatl are masters of wrestling. And now, the gods await,” he motioned towards the main entrance and the great pyre beyond where the sacrificed men from earlier stilled burned.

  Tenok nodded, reaching for the sling in his discarded tunic. Sha’di wasn’t surprised he’d had it on him. Tenok always carried it on his person.

  Most people went back to drinking and eating, and the musicians picked up their instruments once more and began to play, but a few people including Sha’di and Belam followed Tenok outside. He walked towards the pyre, avoiding the bacchanal outside, and ignoring the heat as he stepped so close to the fire he could almost reach out and touch it. He took a final look at the sling, maybe thinking of his father, or all the times he’d used it, or maybe something else Sha’di would never know, then threw it into the flames, sacrificing it to the gods.

  All the men from Chultunyu shared the same room. They lay on soft furs piled on the floor around a low fire. Most of the men were deep in sleep after the festivities. Belam was snoring loudly having barely managed to make it into his bedding, but Sha’di was wide awake, staring into the flames, thinking about his dream—the dream.

  He didn’t see the burning woman every night anymore, but it was often enough that he thought about her constantly. Maybe it was seeing the bodies in the fire that night that made him think of her now. As many times as he had the dream, he could never remember what she looked like the next day, only the expression on her face. Rage. Was he afraid of her? Was he afraid of reaching Chipetzuha?

  “Tenok,” he said softly.

  The prince moaned and shifted slightly but didn’t wake up.

  “Tenok,” he grabbed one of the pebbles near the edge of the fire pit and lobbed it at Tenok. It struck his forehead and he sat up, a look of panic on his face a moment.

  “What—what?” He looked around the room wildly.

  Sha’di couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

  “Tenok, I can’t sleep,” Sha’di sighed.

  “What?” Tenok said in confusion, then he rubbed his forehead. “Did you throw something at me?”

  “I want to talk.”

  “Ugh.” Tenok flopped back down on his skin. “You remind me of my nephews.” But Tenok turned on his side and looked at Sha’di, the flames dancing between them, giving their faces a soft glow. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know, really…I just—”

  Tenok waited a moment then started speaking softly. “Whatever’s bothering you, I bet I have it worse.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just mean…I’ll understand,” he sighed.

  “You understand not wanting to arrive to Chipetzuha but it’s your mission?”

  Tenok was quiet long enough that Sha’di thought he’d fallen asleep with his eyes open, but finally he replied. “I haven’t seen my father since I was a boy. I never really knew if I would see him again. I made Tanuk promise me that when he finally set out to Chipetzuha, he would take me with him. Every day since our father left us, I’ve thought about coming here, of finally seeing my father again…” he sighed. “That damn sling. It wasn’t the last gift he ever gave me; it was the only gift.”

  “I’m sorry you had give it up,” Sha’di frowned.

  “I’m not…I keep thinking how terrified I am. I think…Will he be disappointed that I’m not the man he imagined I’d become? Or…Will he be angry that Tanuk was the one who died…and not me?” He shook his head. “I carry around all these thoughts and ideas about him. Maybe it’s time I let them go, let my memory of him go. Whatever’s going to happen when I see him…Well I can’t control it. I don’t think there’s a right way to think, but I
do not think staying awake all night worrying about it is going to help.”

  “Until now,” Sha’di began, “the only thing I worried about was going to Chipetzuha. And now I here…I mean. I haven’t thought what to do. I don’t know how to save the world.”

  Tenok laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You just sound so dramatic. Save the world!”

  Sha’di couldn’t help but smile himself. “I do sound little self-important.”

  “A little?”

  “I wasn’t chosen by gods. Not really. I vola…volunteered. Someone else could do this, and they be here and I be home, making love every night.”

  “Well, if having sex is your only concern—”

  “It is not,” Sha’di laughed. “Not my only concern. I…I don’t know if I can do what gods want me to. I think they will tell me what to do, but…” The dream came back, the woman screaming as the flames engulfed her, her skin turning red and blistering.

  “Others could have volunteered, but did they?”

  Sha’di thought back to that night, to the silence that had come down when the Rhagepe had asked them to come forward. A dozen men could have, should have, stepped forward. The Rhagepe asked for three to go, and only three had answered.

  “No.”

  “So maybe the gods knew who would volunteer. After all, I think it makes more sense for a man to want to serve the gods than to be forced to. I know you don’t like talking about it, but it’s just like the sacrifices. Men offer themselves to the altar. No one is forced. You offered yourself. The gods accepted. You will do what needs to be done, or the gods would never have let you leave your desert or your woman.”

  Sha’di wondered a moment, if the Rhagepe had asked for them to come forward so their hearts could be cut out and offered to the gods, would he have been as eager to accept? More than that, he wondered if he was just a sacrifice to the gods. If he succeeded, he had no idea if he’d ever make it back to Nnenne, to give her the twelve children she wanted. The thought made him ache.

  “And anyway,” Tenok said, rolling onto his back and closing his eyes. “You’re not at Chipetzuha yet.”

  NEPATA

  KEHMAS

  The priest poured a handful of grain into Kareth’s wooden bowl, muttering the now familiar blessing of Osis and moving on to the next beggar. The priests came every few days, following a schedule Kareth neither knew nor cared about. He only knew it was grain day because the number of beggars on the street would double overnight. The priests always came in a procession, a few guards following close by in case the starving masses rose up and attacked, even though they were all so weak with hunger some could barely call out to the priests for food. Two of the priests carried a litter holding a great basket of grain, and when it was empty, the priests would disappear once more.

  Some men were skipped over, those who looked healthier and stronger than the others, but Kareth almost always received something from the priests, because he was small and young, and because he had lost so much weight his skin was pulled taut over his bones. Sometimes in his boredom, he would try to count his bones. He wondered if he’d ever live to have sons, sons to take his bones and make their own Ancestral Cloaks with.

  Kareth clutched the bowl of grain close to him and ducked into a small alley between two buildings. The space was so narrow very few adults could fit through, and even he found it uncomfortable and cramped, but it made him feel safe. He had lit the small fire when he’d heard the chanting of the coming priests, so the water in the dilapidated pot was already boiling when he returned. He dumped all the grains in and felt his mouth begin to salivate.

  There was no use trying to save any of the grains. Every time he had, they had been stolen. If he hid them, someone, or some animal, would inevitably find his cache while he was away scrounging, and if he kept them on him they would be stolen by someone bigger and stronger than he was, which on the streets meant everyone. Eating straight away wouldn’t spare him the beatings from those trying to steal from him, but at least he had the satisfaction of a full belly as he crawled back into his alley to sleep the pain away.

  Every morning he was surprised to wake up. He went to bed at night certain his body would finally give out, waste away from one of his injuies or the ache of starvation. He was never as surprised as the first night he had woken up on the streets though, after he had been whipped and left for dead.

  They had let him hang in that souk for most of that day, slipping in and out of consciousness, though never escaping the pain. Even in his dreams he could feel the lashings, though in his dreams it was always Dedelion or Imotah or Piye holding the whip —and they didn’t stop at ten.

  Eventually, another criminal had needed to be strung up, so they had cut him down. He hadn’t been able to move or speak; it was like he had forgotten how to do either. He merely watched, groaning in pain as two men threw him on the back of a cart. They took him a little ways away, to a place near the river, and dumped him. One of the guards stood over him, snickering.

  “If you don’t die, you’ll want to get away before the sun sets and the crocodiles start to hunt.” Then he left.

  Kareth wasn’t sure if the man was trying to scare him, or if crocodiles really did swim in the canals. He didn’t care though. He lay on the stone bank, watching as the canal changed colour with the setting sun, sand to blood to amethyst to night with the twinkling of the stars. Then he dreamed. He dreamt he was back on the Afeth. He dreamt he was fighting with Tersh, but Tersh didn’t look angry; she looked disappointed.

  “The Goddess of Life is ashamed of you,” she spat and pushed Kareth into the water. And this time, Sef and the others didn’t jump in to save him. They watched with laughter as the crocodile came closer and closer, until he could feel its teeth digging into his back and scraping down his skin, the river becoming red with his blood.

  He awoke screaming and crying, a soothing voice telling him it was all right. It was dim, morning, and he was lying on his stomach. He looked over his shoulder to see an old man smiling down at him, his face an infinity of folds. Kareth didn’t recognize his white robes slashed with red then, but he would come to know them as the clothing the priests of Osis wore.

  The man was applying wet strips of linen to his back. They stung and made the pain a thousand times worse, and in his fevered state, he tried to get away, but he was too weak and couldn’t even fight the old man. He lost consciousness again, and when he came to a second time, he was in a different place—on a street he would come to call his home. There were more men than Kareth could count, and all of them were homeless and destitute. The old man was still hovering over his back, and the stinging pain had been replaced by a dull throb.

  “If it doesn’t become infected, you’ll live,” the man said with a smile.

  The man stayed that day and the next, giving him water and hand-feeding him boiled oats and a small bit of bread, but on the third day, he was gone and only a small wooden bowl and the linen strips on his back were evidence he’d ever been there at all.

  After the man left the pain in his back was almost completely gone, unless Kareth tried to move or sit up. Then it felt like his skin was being lashed all over again. Someone took pity on him, bringing him water to drink every day, or else he would have died, but once he was able to sit up, charity from the others stopped.

  He got to know the brothers on the streets very quickly. Most had been born in the Sea Mahat, along the shores of the Hatmahe Sea, only coming north after the wave had destroyed their homes and killed most of the people they knew. They told him of the days after the flood, how they had tried to rebuild, but had been unable to grow food. It soon became such a desperate situation they went north. But apparently, there wasn’t much more food here—nor work—so the weak and old had become beggars, and the strong and young had become thieves.

  He came to know them, but he found it hard to befriend any of them. He didn’t trust them because some of the men who had given him water during his first days were th
e same men who stole the grain he tried to save or trade. Most of them didn’t stay for long. Some left looking for work, some left because they decided it would be better to return to the Sea Mahat and die there, but most left because their dead bodies were carted away by the Priests of Osis.

  No matter how many left, though, their numbers never decreased.

  His oats were finished boiling. He used a flattened stick to lift the pot by its handle and place it in the sand, kicking out the fire. A few people were staring into his alley, a hungry look in their eyes. Kareth didn’t wait for the porridge to cool down; he used his flattened stick to scoop it out, blowing on the mush as he ate it as fast as he could. He burned his tongue, but he didn’t care. His stomach was grumbling, and it was in charge now. Having emptied the pot, the people peeking down at him started to drift away with frowns on their faces.

  The sun was past its zenith, and Kareth didn’t want to waste what was left of the day. He squeezed out of the alley, hanging the pot from a rafter, which kept it hidden from view. It was unlikely anyone would steal it. It wasn’t hard to find a pot someone had thrown away, but for the desperate, it was always easier to take something close at hand than to go out and look for it yourself.

  Looking for the things people threw away was the only thing he did anymore. There were dozens of garbage heaps around the city, filled with broken pottery or the bones and rotting skins left behind from a proper meal. Sometimes he’d be lucky and find a loaf of bread that was only half mouldy, or a hunk of fish that didn’t smell too bad, and he’d have a meal for the day. Other days, one of the larger men would keep Kareth from scrounging in the heap by punching him so hard in the stomach he couldn’t breathe.

  He crept down the street like a rat, keeping close to the walls and always looking around a corner before turning. He wasn’t afraid of the beatings. They were painful, of course, and he hated them, but when he peeked his head around the corner, his heart didn’t freeze in fear if he saw a threat. The thing that scared him most was that one day, he would look around the corner to see Dedelion standing there, a smile on his face and a golden knife in his hand.