3212 A.G. (After Gods), deep desert, planet An’kuruku.
Elisa was still having trouble moving her limbs. Stiffness in the joints combined with an unnatural swelling from the giant scorpion’s poison. Most of the pain had subsided, leaving her with the haunted memories of her near-death experience. She considered herself an accomplished warrior, but nothing in her life had prepared her for the fury of being attacked by a five-ton insect. Every day, she hated the desert planet just a little more.
Her wounds looked better, if a nasty combination of purple and black bruises leaking a foul-colored puss was better. Elisa was thankful Tanzeil and his tribe had arrived when they did. The other result was less than favorable. She lacked the desire to be digested in a bug’s belly. Much had happened since her brash decision to abandon the relative civility of Tenemenah. Rightfully, neither she nor Ah’muf should be alive. The bar owner and now her friend was a long way removed from his time in the deep deserts. City life had spoiled him much more than he would ever admit.
Images, warm memories of Ah’muf, entertained her in those moments she felt most vulnerable. Right now, she found the thoughts unwelcome, practically invasive. Elisa needed a clear head if she was going to get them both through this crisis. Tanzeil welcomed them with open arms and a charming smile, but it was all too false for her liking. The man was hiding something potentially dark.
Considering the direction her life had taken, Elisa didn’t find it too remarkable that she instantly saw the bad in people. Others might label her a defeatist, but she knew better. No one who had been forced to witness every single thing she knew murdered before her eyes would find joy in the sunset, smell the beauty of freshly bloomed roses. No one had the right to judge her for her discriminations.
Tanzeil. The dark-skinned man with the warm features managed to say all the right things at precisely the right moments. He sickened her in that regard. Back on Crimeat, he would have been treated as a petty con man, a charlatan with ill intent. A dark stain echoed in his words, tainting his proclaimed innocence with venom just as deadly as the scorpion’s. Elisa would do well to stand clear, lest she fall under his sway. As it stood now, she fully expected him to turn on them when the moment best suited his needs.
A hot wind blew across the endless sea of dunes. The hot kiss was as unwelcome as a prior lover. Not that she had much experience in that regard, though her eye was suddenly focused on Ah’muf. His genuine warmth and kindness softened the rough edges she’d grown accustomed to. The familiar hardness kept her warm on cold nights, the fires burned hotly from the depths of her heart as she searched tirelessly to avenge past grievances. The Bloody Man had returned to her long after his crime, offering assistance and a new purpose to the hatred her life had devolved into. Elisa had accepted his task on the surface, but nothing he said or did would ever remove the miasma of guilt clinging to her soul.
Her face darkened under the soft cloth wrapped around her head for protection from the unforgiving desert sun. It darkened further at the forced kindness in Tanziel’s smooth voice.
“Ah, it does me good to see you up and moving,” he told her. “Scorpions have a vicious sting. The weakest perish quickly.”
“Life has other uses for me, Tanzeil. I somehow doubt it’s going to allow me to perish as quickly as you’re suggesting.”
If he was offended by her slight insult, he refused to show it. “I do not suggest anything of the sort. Sometimes what we want to say is obscured by translation, is it not? I will be the first to admit my tongue does not always mirror what my mind wishes to explain. It is a curse, I think.”
She stopped listening. Long-windedness was a plague among many of An’kuruku’s population. Their inability to get to the point was infuriating, but she managed to maintain her poise, mostly. Elisa took a slow draw from her canteen. The water was warm but still cooler than the rising oppression of the sun.
“Tanzeil, I’ve spent the last two years on this planet listening to men not speak their minds. While I respect the customs and culture here, I also must ask that you do not shy away from my directness.”
That should shut the smug bastard up. I’m still not well enough to handle him in a fight. I need to get off this rock. Every day I can feel my sanity slipping. I need to get out of this desert. I need to find the Paradise Tear and the first transport back to civilization. Let Sorrow do his own bloody work from here on.
“I profess I lack the experience you have. These sands are all that I own. I would be lost in a different environment. People look at my home and see only desolation, a ruined waste of land and resources. They do not understand,” he told her.
“What should they understand?”
He smiled, yellowed teeth gleaming. “That there is more life in these particles of sand than in all of Tenemenah. Life began out here, Elisa. Did you know that? The first guy’ang lizard pushed up through the hard, sun-baked crust and began a journey that would follow millions of years of evolution, culminating in what we see each other as today.”
Your entire society stems from lizards? No wonder you’re all fucked in the head. “You can’t ignore the gods, Tanzeil. They had a part in your evolution.”
Silence for a moment. “The gods hold no sway out here. This is my land, my time. The gods are rusted relics best forgotten in humanity’s museums for those still curious enough to be fooled by antiquity. Any strength the gods had is lost. We are free to make our own destiny.”
Elisa reluctantly admitted he had a point, if skewed. The gods were more relevant than his limited experience allowed him to believe. She didn’t doubt the desert tribes were strong, or that they found truth in their convictions. She merely knew they were wrong. Mollock Bolle had shown her the error in her own thinking, the concealed truth hidden behind three thousand years of Conclave falsehood. Seeing the sleeping god on Crimeat had been overpowering, raw. A gaping hole in her conscience ached to be filled by something that made sense.
Her thoughts strayed to An’kuruku. Where did their god sleep? Was it buried beneath these sands, lost forever to the vagaries of mankind’s inability to properly remember the past?
“Destiny is overrated, Tanzeil.”
“You don’t believe?”
She paused before shaking her head slowly; strands of greasy, red hair licking the sides of her face and neck. “I believe that we are what we are. There is no cosmic force guiding our actions. We make decisions based on reason and emotion. Nothing more.”
“Those are the words of a blasphemer,” he warned. “We are blessed to be alive, no matter what happened to these unnecessary gods. Be careful what you theorize. Even this deep in the desert, the wrong people have means of discovering the black stains in our hearts. I would not see ill befall you.”
His last sentence was drawn out, leaving unanswered questions. Elisa felt her heartbeat shudder. He was plotting against her and Ah’muf. The tavern owner! She’d almost forgotten about him while Tanzeil attempted to charm his way into her thoughts. The chance that he might able be dead was very real.
“Forgive me, Tanzeil, but I must go check on my companion. He took the worst of the scorpion’s attack.”
The barest tilt of his head. “Of course, how careless of me. We will continue this conversation when you are both better rested. Until this evening.”
Tanzeil excused himself, turning his camel away while ensuring he rode at an angle where he was able to watch her every move. She was going to fetch a good price. Slavers paid top coin for off-world prizes. Tanzeil broke into a great smile and began whistling a favorite childhood song. They were still a few hours from where his tribe had concealed their ground skimmers. The massive craft ran on a combination of steam and solar power. Word had already been passed ahead. The men and women guarding his tribe’s most precious resources should already be preparing the vehicles.
The Wells were less than two full days away after that. Two more days, and he was going to be a rich man.
Elisa slid from the worn cloth saddle. Frayed edges threatened to tear under her light weight. The desert tribe may be proud, but they were financially poor. No amount of faith or internal belief contributed much to sustaining such a large group of people. Need of food and supplies, replacement items and basic necessities threatened to drive the tribe into abject poverty.
Not that any of that was her immediate concern. Elisa was almost too focused on Ah’muf. The whimsical, tanned man had placed something deep inside her. A strange combination of emotions conflicted within. Elisa was always the type of woman that knew what she wanted and was focused on achieving her goals. Few obstacles were large enough to keep her from the end once her mind was set.
The camel continued to plod along, herd instincts taking over. Elisa wasn’t sorry to watch it go. She’d never been so sore after only a day’s ride. Slightly bowlegged, she hobbled up the three rickety steps to the back of the medical wagon. The healer on duty nervously looked away upon seeing her brazenly enter the wagon. Such things were not approved of amongst the tribe. Elisa didn’t care. Her friend was hurt, and she harbored a gnawing suspicion worse was coming.
Ah’muf opened his dark, hazel eyes and tried to smile. The pain was still too much, and he collapsed back into waves of unfiltered pain.
“Farisi, forgive me for not getting up,” he joked through clenched teeth. Sweat beaded his forehead, and his normally dark skin was bleached white.
She smiled for him. “You need to rest. This heat is unbearable.”
“The heat should be our friend. It takes away our weaknesses and remakes us into stronger, better versions of ourselves.”
Elisa shook her head. “Doesn’t anyone speak their mind on this miserable planet?”
“The challenge lies in deciphering,” Ah’muf said gently.
She laid a hand on his forehead, gently wiping the sweat away. His skin burned to the touch. He was sick. The poison was spreading.
“What happened?” he managed to ask.
She still found the affair unbelievable. Nothing on Crimeat could have prepared her for such an event. “We were attacked by a desert scorpion.”
He choked suddenly, eyes going wide. “And we lived? You are indeed a formidable woman!”
“Unfortunately, I wasn’t up to the task. The scorpion nearly killed me and would have if Tanzeil and his tribe hadn’t come along when they did.”
Ah’muf’s eyes hardened. “I know this name. Tanzeil. Farisi, we are in trouble.”
“I figured as much, but neither of us is in much shape to do anything about it,” she replied quietly after ensuring they were alone. “He claims to be taking us to the Wells. Whether he tells the truth or not remains to be seen, but I don’t take him on face value. The man reminds me of a snake.”
“He is much worse than a snake. His bite is the desert adder’s, poisonous and deadly. Any offer of comfort or aid comes at a price.”
“What can you tell me about him, Ah’muf? I need to be able to come up with a way out of this situation.”
It was his turn to shake his head. “There is no way out. Tanzeil has made his fortunes in the trading of human flesh. He is a slaver. If he is taking us to the Wells, it is with ill intent.”
Elisa cast a glance towards Tanzeil, now a distant blur in the shimmering desert. “He claims we should be there within the next two days.”
“Then we have only two days to figure out how to escape.”
His courage, limited and wounded as it was, inspired her despite the gnawing feeling that she was, at last, trapped. Captivity was no stranger. The Ugri had found her in the Great Barrier Jungle during her hunt for Mollock Bolle. She’d been treated fairly and even fed, but she doubted the desert slave traders would be so kind. The memory left a sour taste. She’d been duped into hunting down the one man who had discovered the truth of the gods by the dark council, though she suspected they were much more than what the lords of Lethendweil saw on the surface. People like that were akin to a virus. So long as one lived, others would succumb to their temptations.
Elisa refocused on Ah’muf. His eyes were struggling to remain open. Most of his strength was gone. Enough to leave her with doubts about his health. The poison should have been nullified by now. Tanzeil’s healers were either incompetent or ordered to keep him weak in an attempt at controlling her. She found the idea repulsive, not to mention cowardly. Women on An’kuruku were treated like second class citizens, ignored and forgotten unless needed. Elisa despised that cultural aspect but wasn’t averse to using it to her advantage. Men here tended to think past her abilities, forgetting she came from a violent world and was more capable of wreaking havoc than any of them.
Escaping alone wouldn’t prove too difficult, but it would mean leaving her only trusted friend behind to whatever depredations Tanzeil could conjure in revenge. Ah’muf was a definite liability to her survival. He was also a dear friend she feared she was starting to have feelings for. The alien thoughts warmed her after the suns dropped and left the sands bone-chillingly cold, and they terrified her at the same time. She didn’t know love, having abandoned the concept after that fateful day Sorrow had appeared.
Leaning close so only he could hear, she whispered, “Don’t worry, Ah’muf. I’ll figure out a way to get us out of here.”
I just don’t know how.
Tenemenah was restless. A fire was ready to break out, carrying the seeds of burnt destruction across the countless and crowded streets. Thousands of innocent souls would perish beneath the crushing heat of flames, leaving nothing but charred husks where flesh and bone had once stood. Tenemenah would die. The bones of the city would be picked clean by vultures and sandstorms. Time would pass, and memories would fade. The horrors of that single night would ease with time, slowly turning into legend, myth. All it would take is a single spark.
Prefect Lezorsu Pine looked down with a father’s pride at the small army he’d ordered mobilized. Truthfully, they amounted to little more than an overzealous militia reinforced by a company of Prefects. Most were peasants seeking to reaffirm their faith in the eyes of the local government. Lezorsu doubted many had experience with weapons, much less formal military discipline. Still, he mused, they’ll make good fodder. Enough to soften the insurgents properly before he unleashed his Prefects.
“Prefect, the militia is assembled,” Sub Prefect Jut announced.
One eye missing, Jut’s face was a mass of puckered scar tissue. He refused to shave off his twenty-year-old beard, though. Rough patches marred the otherwise perfect, black hair. He was Lezorsu’s second in command, a hard man as comfortable killing a man as training one.
“How many?”
“Close to two thousand,” Jut replied.
Lezorsu nodded absently, his mind already racing to the possibilities awaiting him in the Deeves. “What are the insurgents’ latest strength estimates?”
Jut paused briefly. “More than double.”
“Does that concern you, Jut?” Lezorsu asked mirthlessly.
“Yes.”
“Good. A commander who underestimates his opponents often fails to live long enough to realize his mistakes. We will do well to remember most of the people standing so eager to meet death are simple farmers, not the hardened warriors we might otherwise expect to put down a rebellion with.”
Lezorsu’s raspy voice was thin, nasal. A childhood pox had partially crippled his larynx, leaving him to be mocked by the other children. His voice held a haunting effect, and he’d exploited it throughout his career in the Prefecture. His was the will of subtle dominance. Lezorsu twisted and manipulated others through fear and threat of ultimately failing their gods. Bullies, he learned quickly, fell away the moment he stood up to them. The pencil-thin Prefect enjoyed his reputation. The citizens of Tenemenah named him Doomspell, the reincarnation of death itself.
“All we have with us are peasants, Lord,” Jut pressed. “I need more fighters if I am to have a chance at stopping the rebellion.”
Lezorsu rounded on the bigger man, who recoiled a step before catching himself. “Peasants have the ability to change the world if they weren’t so mired in their thought processes. Look at the thousands assembled in the Deeves.”
Jut frowned. “I don’t understand. What makes them different from the ones we have in our employ? Peasants are peasants.”
Lezorsu grinned, sparkling white teeth poking through his thin lips. “Our peasants are inspired by the natural fear we instill in them. How many do you think would stand and fight if the threat of reprisal wasn’t behind them with sharp blades? Not many, I assure you. It has always fallen to the handful of truly powerful to push those less ambitious to whatever ends necessary.
“Our peasants come out of respect for the law and a healthy dose of fear. The rabble assembled on the shores of the Bo are the complete opposite. They go because they are disaffected with current society’s social structures. They complain that our rule is too stern, too strict. They whine and dicker like people who think they are entitled to better without having to work for it, to earn it. They are a stain on all we have tried to accomplish, and I will not suffer them any longer.”
Jut shifted his weight to his right leg and clasped his hands behind his back. “They are traitors, heretics by any other name. You almost sound as if you admire them.”
“In a manner of speaking. Any man willing to stand up for what his beliefs deserves a modicum of respect. That doesn’t change the fact that they have turned their backs on the Prefecture and possibly the very Conclave. I cannot, will not stand for such blatant heresy. The rebellion must be crushed. Every last man, woman and child needs to die namelessly to ensure another rebellion never occurs.”
Not even Jut’s lust for battle was prepared to accept what his superior had just admitted. “You’re speaking of the total annihilation of a large portion of the population. How can there not be another rebellion? We will become the most hated entity in a dozen star systems. I’m not prepared to murder four thousand civilians.”
Lezorsu edged closer, wicked intent blazing in his pale eyes. “Then I will find another who can. One of the luxuries of being in command is that I know who I can trust to accomplish any task. Do I need to make an enemy out of you, Jut?”
Lips pursed, Jut endured a private struggle between morality and loyalty. He’d never once considered acting contrarily to the will of the Prefecture, of Lezorsu Pine. Ever the loyal servant, Jut had done things he wasn’t particularly proud of but things that had needed doing. His strength stemmed from blind loyalty and the natural ability to read a battlefield. Instincts told him good from bad. Others looked to him as a beacon of reliability, an immovable rock against rising tides of dissent.
It was with grave difficulty that he managed his next words. “Murder goes against all that I stand for, all the Prefecture means. We have been chartered by the Guild Leaders and by the people of Tenemenah to uphold the law. Justice is our watchword, no matter if others are opposed. My conscience won’t allow me to cut down unarmed children in the name of frivolous desires.”
Lezorsu struggled to contain the storm erupting in his soul. Here stood his second in command, a man only slightly less powerful than himself, threatening to let his mind overrule his sense of duty. Appalling! “You would be wise to rethink your answer, friend. I don’t give second chances.”
A slow exhale. “My mind is decided, my conscience clear. I will not lead the militia against the rebellion.”
“Those are…regrettable words,” Lezorsu seethed. “Very well. I strip you of all rank, title and authority under the code of Prefecture. You are hereby disgraced, shamed into exile. I give you one full turn of the sun before I set the dogs after you.”
To his credit, Jut stood his ground. “You know where I will go.”
“I pray you do.”
Jut stood glaring at his former commander and one-time friend. Only it had never been true friendship. Lezorsu was an idealistic opportunist who used everyone who got in his way.
“Get out of my sight, Disgraced,” Lezorsu growled, turning his back on Jut for the final time.
It was a calculated move. Jut was every bit considered one of the best armsmen in Tenemenah. He could easily strike Lezorsu down and end it all right now, but the man named Doomspell knew what he was doing. Honor ranked highly among the Prefecture — a fact not lost on either. If Jut struck Lezorsu down, he’d be branded a traitor and hunted to the ends of An’kuruku. No. Escape was the only viable option. The bigger Prefect decided to bide his time and wait for the right moment to revenge.
“This will not be the last you see of me,” he warned and stormed out, leaving Lezorsu grinning.
Althas Pey swept in shortly after. His cloak rustled across the dull marble floor, limiting any effects of grandeur Althas might have desired. Shallow cheeks gave him a shadowy look. His eyes, dark brown, were deep-set, piercing. He bore the look of a hawk. Predatory, sharp, Althas Pey was a man hunting down more. More power. More wealth. He wanted it all, to include Lezorsu’s position.
“That was anti-climactic,” he criticized. “I rather expected Jut to put up more of a fight. Of course, not even he would be foolish enough to assault the vaunted Doomspell in his own chambers.”
Lezorsu scowled. “I’ve never liked that name, Althas. It gives people the wrong im-pression.”
“But a true one. You are doom, Lezorsu. Make no mistake. The people know you are the viper hiding in the sack of grain.”
“Are you done?”
Althas shrugged, walking over to the round onyx table to snatch a green apple. “For now. We have a campaign to plan, after all.”
Lezorsu questioned his decision to remove Jut. This pompous ass needed to be flogged publicly for his interminable combination of arrogance and ignorance. He was suddenly reminded that the gods must love stupidity. Too many people suffered from it to be mere coincidence.
“Yes, that. Jut informed me we are not where we need to be to successfully execute this campaign. Is that true?”
“True enough. Most of the people we have are amateurs. I wouldn’t trust many with an open blade, much less expect them to know which way to point a rifle.” Althas bit deep. Juice spattered from the corners of his mouth.
“Not good enough. You’re telling me we have two thousand corpses waiting to be slaughtered,” he countered.
“War is an ugly affair. These apples are very sour. Are you sure you bought them ripe?” Althas asked.
“What of the rumors of this prophet?” he asked sharply. Undisguised hostility dripped from his words.
“He’s nothing. The true power hides in his shadows, using him as a puppet to incite the population of the Deeves. Most of the province has already abandoned the Bone Father in favor of this new prophet.”
“Ancient mystics and petty charlatans. Their time is ending. We don’t need their corrupted version of sorcery or their obsolete belief in the gods.”
“You’re suggesting the gods are corrupt? That’s high, even from you.”
Lezorsu’s face darkened. “No gods motivate my decisions or actions. I am my own man, Althas. No one else’s. What I do is answerable only to those who employ me. Speaking of which, has there been any word on my request for support from the Inquisition?”
“Surprisingly, no. The rose bearers don’t seem inclined to rush into another domestic political dispute. I fear they are still licking their wounds from that abominable affair two years ago.”
“So we do this alone.”
He was almost relieved. Intervention from the Conclave or Inquisition would only serve to stifle his drive. His militia might be unorganized, but it was better armed and guided by his fervor. The indignation of this Prophet, this usurper, offered to solidify the rest of the people fully behind the Prefecture. After that, it wouldn’t take much to oust the Conclave and its ineffective priests. A man should know better than to tread where he is unwanted. Especially in the deserts of An’kuruku.
“Jut was confident the militia will not be sufficient to stand up to the rabble on the shores of the Bo,” he commented idly.
Another shrug. Althas spit out the second bite of apple and tossed both pieces to the table. “Jut knew what he was doing, whether you agreed or not. There are close to five thousand peasants gathered to listen to the Prophet. Most are unarmed and close to starving, but that doesn’t mean we should discount the sheer weight of numbers. Worst case scenario, we lose seven thousand peasants and start over.”
Althas said that last part almost too easily for Lezorsu, even though being relieved of so many hungry mouths might prove a blessing. A reduced population would be equally beneficial and problematic. More would seek to rebel, if not openly. The Prefects stood on a delicately balanced blade. A fall in either direction might prove deadly.
Lezorsu pursed his lips briefly. “I want the militia marching within the week. Every moment we delay weakens our position. We cannot be allowed to appear to give these heretics an open lead without reprisal. Althas Pey, I want you to lead them.”
“I can do that easily enough,” Althas nodded slowly. “I’m assuming you want maximum casualties?”
On both sides would be nice. “As many as you can create. Kill them all, and I’ll give a hundred gold pieces to every militiaman who survives.”
Althas finally found a reason to grin. He snatched another apple and quickly stuffed it into a pocket before turning to leave. “You really should throw these out and get new ones. It’s unbecoming for the mighty Doomspell to be passing out sour fruit to his guests.”
He almost made it to the door before looking back at Lezorsu one final time. “Oh, and I suppose you want me to take care of Jut as well. No worries. I’ll do that one for the pleasure. Always was a pain in my ass.”
Lezorsu watched him leave, teeth grinding.