Holding one of the hooded falcons fettered to his gauntlet, Horus crouched in the shadow of the ship's rear, searching for the one to whom he would entrust the dangerous task of revealing Marduk's stronghold. He eyed the group of quaking, sobbing women, surrounded by a wall of soldiers to prevent their escape, the king's unhappiness plain as he winnowed the women down one by one into the unfortunate dozen who would be doomed to satisfy Sethi's lust. No. It could not be one of them. They would have more than enough to endure.
Further up, on the terrace, Sethi stood with his back to the scene, looking out over the gardens, his hands on his hips, ignoring the servants offering him wine and sweets. Close by, Serde's tribute stood in open crates ready to be loaded onto the ship. A fortune lay spread out in the shade of the ship's wing: gold and silver ingots, jewels, bolts of silk organza, white linen, wool, jars of wine, spices, incense, fragrant oils, silk blankets, fine woven rugs, even furniture, chairs, tables, chests with drawers, gilt in gold. A group of twenty palace servants huddled beside the tribute, frightened and miserable, also under guard. Horus cursed, wondering how he would even have a chance to speak to any of the captives with so many soldiers present. He hadn't really thought his plan through as well as he should have.
"So, even the birds are not safe from our oppressor's predations."
Horus turned, wary. An old man approached from behind, lugging a bulging satchel stuffed with scrolls. "I know this one," the wizened man said, nodding at the hooded peregrine, her white breast feathers speckled with warm spots of brown. "Tyrn. A clever bird. Shame it has to be her."
"And you are?" Horus asked, sharp, annoyed by the intrusion.
"Zherei, Master of the Ages," the old man answered, lowering his burden with a heavy sigh. He sank down beside Horus onto the charcoal-dyed oyster shells of one of the black squares of the game board, uncaring of the dark powder staining the pristine white of his robe. He gestured at the ship, resigned. "And destined for wherever this is going. I am certain I will never come back. Not after what I said."
Intrigued, Horus took the bait. "And what was that?"
Zherei fiddled with his staff. "Ah, nothing, never mind." He cast a furtive look at Sethi, who still stood with his back to them, his bearing shrouded in contained anger. "Well, I suppose it does not matter now," he muttered, rubbing his forefinger under his nose, "and perhaps I ought to warn someone what he's after before it's too late . . . unless you are destined to travel with me?"
"I am not," Horus paused. "What do you mean warn—?"
"And Tyrn?" Zherei interrupted.
"She has to go," Horus said, eyeing Zherei in a new light. Perhaps the old man might—
"Shame," Zherei murmured. "She's a fine bird. Deserves a better fate than this." He gestured, vague, at the tribute, captive servants, and shrinking group of women.
Horus tried again. "What do you mean warn someone?"
"Yes, that," Zherei said. He adjusted several of the scrolls in his satchel until they lay in a neat bundle. "He's looking for the jihn, an ancient, hidden artifact of great power. It consumes the light of the gods and obliterates them. He says he dreamed of it—that it was his. Although why he would want it is beyond me, since apart from him there are no other gods on Elati."
Horus digested Zherei's words, a tendril of dread circling the pit of his torso. "And . . . now he's taking you with him."
Zherei nodded, morose. "I should not have told him he was the darkness. As usual, I got carried away."
"The darkness?" Horus repeated. "You meant to insult him?"
"No, not at all, the darkness is real. An entity," Zherei said, tilting his head back to examine the ship, his gaze following its dark contours, the curve of its wings, the floating steps, his expression shifting between fascination and fear. "In the beginning the Creator was both darkness and light, so he wrestled with himself until the light was able to contain the darkness in a barren world, but the darkness created the jihn and escaped. The first world it came to was Elati, where it used the jihn to consume the light of the gods, its intention to travel to every world and consume every god until the jihn was powerful enough to overcome the light of the Creator. But the Creator caught the darkness in between the worlds soon after it left Elati. While it was still weak, he split it into a million pieces and placed each fragment in a different world, where he made the gods the defender of his light. Unable to destroy the jihn, since it was made with part of his essence, he hid it in Elati, foretelling one day the darkness would find its way back, drawn to the power of the jihn, and when that happened," Zherei waved his hand, encompassing the city, the sky, and the sea, its waves crashing against the white shore far below, "all this would end."
His heart heavy, Horus looked at Tyrn. A bird. He had thought he might overcome Marduk with a bird, when Sethi was seeking a weapon which had once belonged the dark aspect of the Creator. A weapon which consumed the light of the gods. Baalat had shared—just once—of her end and Istara's transition at the threshold of Surru. Istara had to be here, there was no where else she could be. Even through his hateful possession, Sethi would know it; his bond to his consort was indestructible. Horus let out a thin breath, unable to conceive of doing such a thing to Baalat. Sethi was far gone if he intended to destroy his own consort.
"Do you know where the jihn is?"
"I have an idea," Zherei muttered, unhappiness seeping from him. "More of a logical conclusion, since there is only one place in Elati which has remained uninhabited since the time of the gods." He paused, bleakness surrounding him. "The region is vast. It will take time, unless of course, he can sense its presence once he is near enough to it, then it will take no time at all."
"Where is it?" Horus repeated, swivelling to face him. "Sethi is not the only god in Elati—there is another, a goddess, his consort. I suspect he intends to use it on her, to prevent her from rising against him."
Zherei caught his breath. "If you know such things, who are—?"
"It's better for your sake if you don't know," Horus said, cutting a look at Sethi, considering him in a new light. Perhaps the influence over him wasn't only Marduk's doing after all, perhaps there was more to this than met the eye. Horus felt far out of his depth. He longed for the chance to speak with Thoth about what Zherei had revealed. The Creator was both dark and light. He had always believed the Creator to be good, and yet, why not? What else could explain the darkness in the hearts of men? He loosened the straps of the gauntlet. "Tell me where it is."
"I suspect if it is anywhere, it will be in Anki," Zherei said. When Horus looked at him, blank, Zherei jerked his head toward the east, "It's an island in the middle of the Adriande Sea. It was once the home of the gods. None go there, not even the seafaring clans of Kium's savages. All nations believe the isle to be cursed."
"If that thing is there, Anki must be an unpleasant place."
Zherei nodded, bleak. "I once met a bankrupted merchant who claimed a raging storm surrounds the island. Every one of the boats in his fleet apart from his own were driven toward the island by strong winds and smashed against its cliffs."
"You must not tell Sethi where you think it is," Horus said. He hefted the gauntlet with the falcon from his arm onto Zherei's and retied the straps, "It is vital he does not find it."
"But the prophecy," Zherei muttered, lifting his arm to admire Tyrn. "One cannot stop what is meant to be."
"We can try," Horus said. "Just send him on wild chases, play the fool. Do what you must to buy us time."
"I'll try," Zherei sighed. He eyed Marduk's ship again, wary. "However, I imagine if he is able to traverse the skies in a wonder like this, he also has things which can persuade a man to speak the truth against his will." He ran a reverent finger along Tyrn's breast. "And why have you given me Tyrn?"
"The queen requires a task of you," Horus said. He fished out Tyrn's scroll case from his pouch and handed it to Zherei. "This ties to Tyrn's leg, make sure it's secure before you set her free."
"And why am I taking her with me, if only to set her free?"
"Because you are going to send the queen a message."
Zherei lifted an eyebrow. "Indeed? And what shall this message be?"
"Where you are."
"Ah," Zherei nodded. He shot a look of triumph at Sethi's back and tucked the scroll case in amongst his satchel of scrolls. "It is fortunate I am able to navigate by the constellations. Inform our good queen I shall not let her down."
Horus clasped Zherei's thin shoulder. "May the Creator protect you."
Zherei met Horus's eyes, then dropped his gaze to Horus's hand on his shoulder. "Perhaps he already does," he said, soft.
Horus backed into the gardens, watching, grim, as the captive servants loaded the ship. When the last of it had been stowed inside, twelve tear-stained, disheveled women crept up the steps, silent, broken, into the dark interior. Zherei went in last, stroking Tyrn's feathers as though she were his own companion. In the numb, thick silence of the gardens, Sethi turned and strode down the steps of the terrace, across the ruined game board and into the ship. The steps retracted back into the wall and the door slid closed.
A blast of heat and fire, and the ship lifted straight up into the deep blue of the sky, rising, steady, until it loomed over the tallest towers. It turned toward the east and shot away in a cone of brilliance, thundering, deep, resonant. Then. Nothing. Zherei, the women, the servants, Tyrn, gone.
That night, Horus held Baalat against him and thought of the jihn, and of Istara, and of what he must endure to stop the one his light had become.