C h a p t e r T h r e e
A deeply unsettled pall had draped itself over the shoulders of every remaining member of the caravan now, which we wore heavily and silently as we continued on towards the River Jipaa. As it was my turn to guard our dwindling group later that same night, I found myself huddled around the fire, under the clear, cool desert sky with nothing but my own leaden thoughts to accompany the crackling flames.
He looked right at me.
That split second of hateful recognition in Urbara's eyes would have been enough to keep me awake even if I was not scheduled to be on duty. I had half a mind to think that, had he not collapsed so suddenly, I would have been the next intended victim of that axe. Or had I been the first? Had Mekash merely been in the way? Was it possible that Urbara had still been mad from our rather unremarkable confrontation in Laanur?
It matters not, I convinced myself, pulling my cloak tighter. Urbara is as good as dead.
"Your shift is over, enka. Get some rest."
Only one trader in the caravan was young enough to feel the need to use the honorific "enka" with me. Anbir was his given name, and he was barely halfway through his second decade of life. If he had ever embarked on the trader's journey to the South before, it could only have been one time at most, and likely then with his father.
"Rest will not find me tonight," I answered. "Consider your shift covered."
The boy was undeterred. He joined me near the fire, more for the warmth than anything – despite the drop in temperature, he wore only a simple rag garment with no cloak, all of his gangly limbs exposed to the night.
"Sleep evades us all, it seems," he said. Then, a moment later, "Why do you think he did it?"
I was not keen on conversation, but for the boy's sake, I entertained it. "The desert heat has charred many a mind stronger than Urbara's. It is possible that the sun just brought out the violence hidden in his soul."
"Do you think it was an anti-god's work?" Anbir asked eagerly, firelight glinting off his dark curls.
"Perhaps," I said. If he needed a concrete justification for the abhorrent scene he had been made to witness, I would not deny him. "Let me ask you something in return, then. The sky – have you noticed anything unusual about it lately?"
Confusion passed through his eyes, but he turned his youthful face upward, peering into a solidly black abyss that stretched endlessly in all directions around our little glowing campsite. I watched as he gradually came to the same unsettling realization that had struck me earlier that night.
"The stars..." he whispered. "They're gone."
*
It was hardly three days' time from the Urbara incident to when we spotted the lush landscape of the river banks, and we had begun to put the strange, unexplained occurrence behind us. After all, Urbara was currently bound and forgotten somewhere near the mountain range; his fate was his own. We had the fate of the caravan with which to preoccupy ourselves now.
The first settlement of any substance up north was the town of Minzur – a land fortunate enough to have escaped Yadid's clutches thus far, owing solely to the fact that it was so far north that it required crossing two deserts to reach. Past that, Minzur was nothing spectacular, lacking any great wealth or prestige. At best it could be considered a farming community that had expanded somewhat into a small town.
Here we stopped for the first time to set up in their modest marketplace.
The road on which we pulled our carts into town was dirt, not sand, and framed by patches of green grass. As we neared the center of Minzur, the fields gave way to a scattered collection of mud-brick buildings, none more than two stories tall. No one lived in this part – they all had houses on the edges of their farmland – so every building was for administrative purposes, and painted with motifs that signified their use. The largest was the temple, sprawling across the end of the roadway with four columns holding up a flat roof, atop which had been set a zuara. A symbol of the gods, the zuara was a statue of stone comprised of two stacked spheres – the human realm and the divine realm – with an upwards-pointing spiral meant to act as a receiver of messages and blessings from beyond. Two thin, curved horns like those of a bull arched up on either side – protection against the anti-gods and the very force of evil itself.
The open area in front of the temple was designated as Minzur's marketplace.
"Let's hope for a good sale to lift our spirits," one of the traders said, heavily setting down his pack. The others muttered in agreement and we all began unloading our goods, arranging them attractively on the unfurled packs in which we had carried them.
I reached for the pouch around my hips, intending to empty its contents onto my makeshift shop as well, but felt myself suddenly freeze. My fingers twitched with hesitation, as they lightly – almost reverentially – alit on the leather pouch, moving no farther, making no move to draw it open.
"I, for one, am interested in seeing how much that necklace will go for," another trader called out, as if on cue. He was just making small talk as we worked, but my eyes snapped to him too quickly, and his grin sent an unsettled feeling to my stomach.
"Oh right," said yet another, catching interest. "Forgot about that little gem. Bet you didn't though, eh, woman?"
"I have a name," I returned, my voice tight. "And I shall sell my necklace when I see fit. It will fetch a much nicer profit in Nidyum than it will here, and so that is where I will see it sold."
Why I had suddenly come to the decision not to sell it yet, I could not say. But something was urging me to hold onto it, and the hand reaching for my pouch had curled into a fist without me realizing it. I let my fist drop down by my side, intent on ignoring the pouch and its burden for now.
The necklace, however, would not be ignored.
It pulsed.
"Suit yourself, then," one of the traders was saying, but I hardly paid him any attention. My mind was honed on the pouch at my hip like a falcon's eye on its prey, albeit with much more trepidation. I had definitely felt that. But now my own pounding heartbeat was the sole cadence I could sense, and the necklace was as motionless as a necklace should be.
I forcibly pushed all this aside in my mind and started to reach for the closure of my other pack – only to again freeze in mid-gesture. Someone had been standing between the columns of the temple. Staring directly at me.
Though I felt the intense gaze and saw the figure of a person in my peripheral, by the time I glanced up there was no one in that spot. The back of my neck prickled with threat. I felt my body tense, a heightened sense of wariness rooting me in place as my eyes raced over the surrounding area: the other traders unpacking, several administrators walking into a nearby building marked "Farming Rations," a small collection of villagers tucked in the offering section of the temple. There was no immediate threat jumping out at me; however, I knew someone had been watching me.
The unsettled feeling did not go away for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. Even as I peddled my goods to the smattering of Minzure who came into marketplace that day, I kept twitching my eyes back to the temple to check for any signs of that unnerving figure. Sales were surprisingly good for Minzur; being a farming community, the people for the most part had very few shums to their name. These were much simpler folk than the southern cities, much less greedy. But I still sold one of the small clay vessels I had purchased abroad in Mezuina for two shums, as well as a wide-mouthed woven basket for a shum and a large ripe Ziyi fruit – a meal I welcomed wholeheartedly after three weeks in the barren Kishar Desert.
By dusk everyone was closing up shop, as most of the Minzure who traveled to the center of town had completed their business by now and were heading back out to the countryside for their evening meals.
The caravan would be spending the night here in Minzur before moving on – in the solitary inn, if we could bear spending the shums for a room, or else out in our tents as we had spent every night previously. I, for one, always chose to stay at an inn when the opportunity presented itself. Perhaps the preference was just the last shreds of my sedentary, non-nomadic life showing themselves once more, but I did enjoy having a roof over my head.
Not to mention the privacy that a caravan so desperately lacked.
The room, like the one in Laanur, was hardly bigger than the bedroll that I had placed inside it, with one cracked vase in the corner for washing. There was an opening to the outside that served as a window, sheer fabric coverings stirring lightly in the barely-there breeze. Nights of the Dry Months were known to be cold, so after I unwound the wrap from my head and shoulders and shrugged off my traveling cloak, I crawled beneath the blanket on the floor.
Immediately my mind returned to the pouch that I had left near my feet. The necklace had not pulsed again since I first felt it, and I had not seen the figure a second time, but some creeping feeling told me these incidents were not isolated. And they did not leave me at peace as I settled in for the night's sleep.
Little necklace, I pleaded silently, whatever you are... please do not be my undoing.
*
I woke the next morning to find the sun streaming in lazily through the gauzy curtains. It was early, much too early to expect the rest of the caravan to be roused yet. A little later in the morning we would gather and head out from Minzur, but for now the moment was my own. I decided to make the most of this time with a walk, hoping it would clear my anxious mind a little – and yet, as I started towards the door, I felt the overwhelming compulsion to scoop up my pouch and take it with me. Something felt not quite right about leaving it unattended.
Minzur was really quite a simple village. Its buildings were bare, utilitarian, lacking the gold and marble from faraway lands that the larger cities imported for their grandiosity. Beyond the plain mud-brick buildings, I could see the great stretch of land surrounding the administrative area: Acres and acres of farmland, spread out over every available inch of fertile soil, which gradually became patchier towards the horizon as the ground changed to sand. The Sura Harran mountains were just visible as a half-faded image against the morning sky. Here and there were modest-looking huts, holding the inhabitants of Minzur – almost exclusively farmers, or else administrators.
Or priests.
I found myself in front of the same temple as yesterday, the only temple in town. There was no activity inside it right now; anyone awake was most likely tending to their livestock, not offering tribute or praying. And yet the temple still drew my eyes, still gave off a rather unsettling feeling. It had just struck me as odd for a place of spirituality and hope to cause such unease when there was a sudden voice in my ear.
"You are up early, kulyane."
I startled badly. The term "kulyane" gave the voice's owner away even before I turned to face the man – only priests called others "friends of the divine." But I was still unprepared for this encounter.
"Good morning, sharir. Just exploring the town before we move on," I answered, steadily enough.
The sharir was older than me but not elderly. He had characteristically pale skin from all the time spent in his temple, with the also-characteristic painted black dots beneath his eyes. His shoulder-length black hair was flecked with gray, and he was clean-shaven, as all priests are.
"Shall I count on you visiting the temple as well?" he asked gently. "It is always a good idea to offer something to the gods before embarking on a journey, as you know."
"I..." Caught off-guard, I hesitated in my response. Of course I had had no intentions of visiting the temple, but it was inauspicious to say "no" to a priest. "I do know that," I said. "But I am afraid I have nothing on my person worth offering at the moment."
"Oh?" the sharer said softly, and I saw his eyes glance towards the pouch I had elected to bring along.
Damn this necklace, I thought bitterly.
"That is nothing of worth, I assure you," I told him. It was not exactly a lie: I had no idea how much the thing may or may not be worth, and everyone else seemed convinced it was wholly useless.
"If I may?" he asked, holding up a palm. "Outsider goods do so intrigue me."
If he sensed my hesitation, he did not remark on it. Having no other choice, I untied the pouch from my belt and dipped my hand inside; the blue stone of the necklace shone in the first rays of sunlight. It was more brilliant than ever, and I only hoped the sharir would not be able to see it as I did.
He took it in his hands almost reverentially, holding its golden chain between two fingers and allowing the swirl-encased stone to swing like a pendulum between us. His mouth formed a tiny "o" of appreciation, gray eyes drinking in the sight, and I knew at once I was not the only one who saw the beauty of this piece. Far from being relieved at this justification, I felt a cold dread take hold of me.
"How marvelous," he whispered, his eyes still glued to it, "that the gods saw fit to bestow such gifts on a human jeweler, that he may craft such a masterpiece in their honor. Ah – but you must be hoping to sell this in the southern cities?"
"Yes," I said eagerly. "Or perhaps keep it for myself, I haven't yet decided."
"Of course, of course," he said, seemingly to himself. He brushed the pad of his thumb across the smooth face of the still-unnamed blue stone. "Well then," he concluded, "we cannot ask you to part from it, can we? But it would be an injustice of my priestly duties if I did not perform a purification on it for you. And perhaps I could imbue some protection in it that you would have otherwise received from offering it up for the gods?"
"I... yes, sharir," I replied, giving in. As I said, it is simply unwise to say "no" to a priest.
*
The temple consisted of the outer room for the villagers, which was open to the outside through the two-story columns surrounding it, and the inner rooms, which only the priests and priestesses had access to. As we passed beneath the main archway, the quiet of the morning suddenly took on a much heavier, more purposeful feel. It was too early for any villagers to be here; the kneeling pillows were empty and the altar in the center had been cleared of the previous day's offerings. Incense from Mezuina was placed sparingly around the room, to be burned later in the day. The only sound in the room was the slight babbling of the trough next to the altar, which contained blessed water from the well below the temple.
I was led directly to the altar, a massive carved stone with a raised dais in the middle. The sharir placed the necklace on this dais, and then set his hands over it and closed his eyes. I stood close by, on edge but unsure why. This was just a ritual purification – why did I feel so anxious about it?
The priest began humming, low and from the back of his throat, summoning forth the gods' intervention. The humming vibrated through to my very core, echoing off the temple walls, and when he opened his mouth it changed to a wordless chant of the same tone. This was familiar enough to me, but what happened next was not.
There was a sudden BANG and the priest's hands jerked back from the necklace, smoke issuing from the dais as though from a small explosion. Burn marks scorched his palms. I saw his serene expression contort into one of – was that anger?
"Sharir, what –?"
"Hush!" he snapped. With a maniac sort of fervor, he tried to replace his hands back over the necklace – only to hear a sharp crackle of energy that repelled him back again. "There appears to be some sort of – unwelcome force –" He grabbed the ladle from the trough and poured blessed water over the necklace to the sound of more sizzling crackles, and then made to seize the necklace by its chain.
"Stop!" I commanded, and without thinking I grasped the priest's wrist before he could touch my necklace – only to hiss in pain a moment later, as angry red blisters sprung up on my fingers. Startled, I glanced up into his face with widened goldenrod eyes.
And gasped.
The sharir's face was distorted into an ugly mask, with pointed ears and a snout like a jackal, gleaming fangs and beetle-black eyes. I suddenly found myself face-to-face with a living, snarling myth, right out of the fanciful stories I had been told growing up: The demonic counterbalance to the great deities; an anti-god.
"You –!" I started, backing away a step, but I did not get to finish my exclamation. The anti-god launched itself at me then; I threw myself out of the way and hit the curved side of the dais. I spun around, gripping the edges of the stone behind me, and saw the anti-god for what it truly was: a monstrosity of a creature, with gnarled claws and a whip-like tail that formed a barb at the end, human in shape but far from human in every other aspect.
"That does not belong to you," it growled, its words rough and barely comprehensible.
"You cannot even bear to touch it," I fired back, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. "It rejects your demon body."
"It fears me," it snarled. "As it should. As should you!"
I saw the anti-god tense, muscles ready to launch forward again, and I reacted instinctively: reaching back blindly, I grabbed the necklace off the dais and thrust it in front of me. There was a great resounding BANG as the anti-god collided with my outstretched hand, its claws scratching long red marks down my arm, but the necklace served me well; the monster gave a shriek of pain and writhed in place, impeded from coming any closer just by the force of the necklace. I could smell the putrid scent of burning flesh, could feel the tips of my fingers blistering at their contact with the anti-god's throat –
And then suddenly, it was over. The anti-god disappeared into thin air faster than a blink, and I stumbled forward at the lack of resistance. The necklace was still sizzling slightly, the water was still babbling in the trough nearby, but the silence pressed tightly against me. I turned to look to both sides of me, ready for the anti-god to reappear somewhere... but it seemed to truly be over now. The creature's dark, crushingly evil presence had vanished along with its visage, and the temple was once again enshrouded in idyllic calm as though it had never been disturbed. I allowed myself to exhale heavily. My eyes closed and I felt my heart still beating rapidly; I willed my racing mind to calm down.
... What had that been about?
The necklace in my hand was warm. A glance down at it revealed that the blue stone was alive with movement, swirling black deep inside the heart of it. Part of me wanted to throw it away right then and forget it ever existed, but a bigger part of me knew that I needed to hold onto this, to protect it from the evil forces of Eqqi in the world. This was my necklace now, and my responsibility. It could not fall into the wrong hands... whosever hands those might be.
With trembling, blistered fingers, I opened my pouch and replaced the necklace back inside it. Then, with a glance towards the temple entrance to ensure no one had seen any of that, I sunk down against the dais and rested my head back against the stone. "Attra, my goddess, I need your protection now more than ever," I whispered, as a rivulet of blood rolled down my arm.