The Jackal Dreamin
J.A. Caselberg
An Imprint of
Musa Publishing
The Jackal Dreaming
By J.A. Caselberg
Copyright © J.A. Caselberg, 2011
Smashwords Edition
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All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
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This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.
Musa
Publishing
633 Edgewood Ave
Lancaster, OH 43130
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Published by Musa Publishing, December 2011
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This e-Book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this ebook can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.
ISBN: 978-1-61937-916-9
Published in the United States of America
Editor: Matt Teel
Cover Design: Kelly Shorten
Interior Book Design: Coreen Montagna
For Bill who made this possible
Chapter 1
Deep beneath the Akkaran Temple complex, Tarith caught her breath and pressed back against the cool stone walls. She hadn’t been mistaken; there were sounds coming from around the corner. Something or someone was moving up ahead. Had she been discovered? She listened for a moment longer, but the strange scratching noises came no closer. Her heart sounded loud in her ears.
She didn’t want to risk being caught. A lowly temple scribe such as herself could expect no mercy from the priests. Carefully, she edged closer to the corner and poked her head around. She glanced up the corridor beyond, but nothing moved along its length. Quickly she pulled back and, steadying herself with her back against the wall, sought within for calm. Then, plucking up her resolve, she bit her bottom lip and popped her head around again.
A doorway lay to the left, about ten paces along. The corridor ran on into dimness. Her heart still pounding in her ears, she checked the floor. The ever-present layers of dust blanketed the surface, undisturbed except for the tiny tracks of desert hop-rats that made these underground passages their own.
She let out her breath slowly. It appeared that she was truly alone after all. Another noise came from inside the doorway and made her start.
She listened carefully, keeping her breathing as still as she could. There again, a faint scratching and tearing sound. Then she recognized it for what it was; somewhere beyond the doorway was a group of hop-rats going about their business. Tarith gave a sigh of relief and stepped towards the door, with a faint smile.
She should have realized that this place would make an ideal home for the small rodents. The massive walls and pillars concealed numerous entrances and passages, many now disused since the descent of the city from its time of greatness. Vast storehouses held the goods and commodities that took the bulk of the temple dealings. The grain stores held an obvious attraction for the hop-rats and provided a ready source of food.
The priests made sure the stores were kept as full as possible for most of the year, for they controlled the trade sourced by the life blood of the muddy river meandering through the center of Akkar. The healthy commissions they gained kept the temple prosperous even in lean times such as these. Little wonder the hop-rats should seek the bounty of the temple.
Slowly, she leaned round the edge of the doorway and looked inside. Beyond lay a vast chamber. But this was not a storeroom. She hesitated, trying to take in what she saw. Row upon row of shelves lined the walls—and they were full of…books! What were books doing down here? Light filtered from above, and made square patterns on the mosaic floor. Whatever the room had been used for, it had clearly sat forgotten for a long time. Piles of rubbish littered the floor, and where it lay clear, hop-rat tracks crisscrossed the dust.
The rubbish lay heaped in piles close to the room’s corners, along the edges and inside the bottommost shelves. She wrinkled her nose at the smell. Tiny black droppings lay scattered amongst the detritus. The hop-rats had obviously found themselves a convenient nesting material in the tomes of this old archive and they had used it to advantage. The lower shelves lay bare except for the odd fragment of binding and the shreds of what had once been books. Clearly, the hop-rats had only been able to reach so far, for above the vacant spaces ran row upon row of volumes, all reasonably intact. Tarith could hardly believe her luck. It seemed she might at last have found something to occupy her time. Even if they were merely records of the temple’s past transactions, they would give her something to do other than wandering empty passages.
She had first discovered the entrance to the passageways weeks ago. A small winding staircase led down behind a storeroom that sat behind the main temple altar. Tarith had used a rest period to explore it, and at the bottom discovered—to her delight—the maze of corridors. She extended her explorations during still and quiet times, musing over the daily boredom of temple existence and walking off her frustrations. The passages wove, long cool and deep beneath the stone. And they travelled further, she was sure, but she never had enough time to test her suspicions. She wondered where they led. Beyond Akkar, there was only parched desert.
Small, dingy rooms dotted the length of the rough-hewn walls. Some bore a few sticks of long forgotten furniture sitting useless in the dimness. All, even the empty ones, were covered with a thick veil of dust and, as far as she could tell, hers were the only tracks apart from the hop-rats’. She used the tracks to keep mental note of the places she had not yet been.
Somehow she had missed this library—if library it was—in her early explorations. But now…
She stepped into the room with a growing sense of excitement. Looking up, she tried to see the source of the light that filtered down to illuminate the room, but the arched ceiling blocked her view. Dust motes made small bright spots in the shafts of light.
Ignoring the outraged protests of the hop-rats, she crossed to the shelves lining one wall and reached for a volume. She had to work to pry it free, and she shifted it back and forth to loosen the glue of time welding it to its companions. She was rewarded for her efforts by a face full of dust that left her in a fit of coughing and sneezing, sending the inquisitive hop-rats running for cover. Catching her breath, she went still, but there was no one down here to hear.
Finally, she managed to bring the spasms in her chest under control. Nestling the book under one arm, she cleared a place for herself in the chamber’s middle where the light was stronger. There she set herself down to read.
Books! They didn’t use books in the temple. Scroll after scroll. She’d seen books before, of course—parts of trade consignments, but never had she thought she’d have the pleasure to hold one herself. The book opened grudgingly, creaking and cracking as she pulled back the cover. The pages were discolored and faded with age, but the city’s dryness had kept them well.
A title page in an old script, painstakingly lettered upon the dry fabric, sat before her. At first, the wording seemed unfamiliar, but she concentrated and was able to pick out the odd letter, then whole words. The language was the same as her own, but the script was awkward. She pieced the words together, and managed finally to work out that it was writing as she knew it after all and not some foreign language. Some of the letters were scribed using unfamiliar strokes, but the whole started to make more sense once she puzzled out where the differences lay.
As Tarith started to read, she discovered the language was different too, an older, more awkward form. To her surprise, the pages contained no record of temple transactions. Instead, the whole book was devoted to the geography and customs of the region.
Tarith was amazed. To write was one thing, but to write about something…It was so different from the writing she did as part of her duties. As a temple scribe, she wrote little more than lists; lists of goods and their values that recorded the transactions of temple trade. She did not begrudge it—at least she had work. There were others who lived on the streets and she had seen what sort of lives they suffered. She hesitated to think what might have become of her, if her parents hadn’t pushed her into the temple service.
They had thought it might offer the chance for her to make a better life than theirs, arguing early on that her mind showed promise. In some ways it made up for what some would see as their misfortune—that her mother had borne a female child instead of the strong back of a male. Everyone had told them that to have a child accepted by the temple was good fortune indeed. They had only nodded sagely.
Tarith looked up from the book and sighed. Her parents had wished her the best, but how little they had known. They had been simple folk. A good eighteen months had passed since they were gone, taken by the Great Death that had swept the city of Akkar. Like so many others in her street, they had contracted the fever and collapsed in the middle of their daily tasks to be dragged to their homes. They lay burning, consumed by whatever ill spirit raged within them, and she had been powerless to help. Her mother went first, her father a mere five days after. Like the rest of the poor, their bodies were burned on the great pyres that consumed the dead day and night for the space of two months. The sweet dark smell of the smoke that wafted over the city hung in her nostrils even yet when she remembered those times. Not even the Street of Perfumeries had escaped the stink. But that was past now and her position within the temple, though dull, kept her safe.
She looked back down at the treasure that lay before her. Eagerly she turned the pages, quickly becoming lost in the wonder of her discovery. In her enthusiasm she tore one of the fragile sheets. She caught her breath, horrified, and cursed herself for stupidity. The rip wasn’t bad, but she had learned her lesson and she took more care after that.
She hunched over the book and slowly, everything else was forgotten. There were references to the gods and things that came from them. There were powers there that went beyond the abilities of mere humans. Theirs was the wielding of fire and earth. There were transformations that took simple creatures and made them into tools of power and awe. The Time of Greatness started to live and breathe within her mind and, as she read, Tarith walked the streets of the city when it had known its peak. She dealt with the merchants and the visiting dignitaries. She swapped tales of daring with dashing warriors and clothed herself with their dreams.
Tarith also began to realize things about Akkar. In ages past, it seemed, the city had been much more. Even the priests had suffered the decline that came as Akkar and all belonging to it diminished. At one time the Chief Priest had been God-King. But now, she knew, he was little more than a bureaucrat in charge of the decay. It appeared that their daily life was a mere shadow of what had once lived within these streets.
She didn’t know how much time had passed while she was sitting there, but she had grown tired and it became more difficult to make out the strangely scripted words. Reluctantly, she tore herself away from these passages that wove pictures in her head. She looked around the library and realized with a start that—the light had already begun to fade. Swallowing, she closed the book. She must surely have been missed by now. She tried to stand, and her legs were numb. She struggled to her feet, bent to retrieve the book and hobbled over to replace it on the shelf out of the way of the hop-rats, feeling sharp prickles in her legs and feet.
Nervous now, but with her mind still swimming in the wonder of what she had read, she limped back up the passageway rubbing her legs to try and get their feeling back. As she neared the bottom of the winding staircase that led back up to the temple, Tarith started to think of excuses.
As it was, she had need not have worried. Checking there was no one in the storeroom at the top of the steps, she slipped out into the room—relatively empty now before the harvest—and across into the temple proper. Two priests, shiny-headed and totally disinterested in her, stood in conversation. She ducked through the row of tall columns lining the main hall and walked quickly past them with her head down, her feet padding silently across the shiny stone floor. One of the priests glanced at her, but he looked over and beyond her. A lowly scribe was clearly beneath his notice.
Tarith walked as quickly as she could, out through the main temple doors and onto the broad stone steps overlooking the square. Already, twilight tinged the edges with shadows and across the city, here and there, lamps were being lit. Ignoring the passersby, consumed by her thoughts, she headed across the square and on to the streets that led to home.
As she drew near to the street where her simple mud-brick house lay, she smiled. If that one single book was any indication, there could be so much more for her in the newly discovered room. And she had tomorrow and the next day and the days beyond that to explore what it contained. At last she had something to look forward to.
Chapter 2
The streets of Burkaz bustled with revelers and those attempting to get on with their business amidst the festivities. The yellow and dun colored walls were interspersed here and there with pink or green or orange, breaking up the uniform colors. Gaily hued pennants hung from windows and clotheslines stretching from building to building across alleyways and streets, fluttering slightly in the passing breeze. Above everything rose the murmur of the crowds punctuated by an occasional shout or catcall, or a burst of song; smoke from the street vendors bringing the scent of food wove through it all.
Alaika stood out upon the balcony, letting the breeze from the water flow through her deep red hair, listening to the crowds and watching the tides of movement course through the city. The salt tang of the bay sat on the breeze, along with the cooking smells, touched with the hint of seaweed washed up on the shore.
The festivities had started early this year. It had not been an easy season and the populace needed some excuse to escape from the memories of the hardships they had faced. Burkaz was prosperous enough, but even those of its people counted as well off had felt the strain. Alaika smiled to herself as she thought of the approaching day. Let them celebrate. Only five days more and it would be High Feast, and then her power would be fixed in place. Soon those milling herds would be truly hers.
Still, it was better not to become too confident. She had things to achieve before the festivities were finalized. There would not be much sleep over the next few days.
She narrowed her deep green eyes as she thought of the work yet to do. If only she could keep the fool boy in control till then, everything would fall into place. The problem with having to rely on someone else was that you could never be certain of them, particularly a mere child. Not that the boy had either cunning or ambition. He showed little of his father’s brains, but that was just as well. He was his mother’s son—that much was all too clear.
Alaika didn’t know what her brother had ever seen in that brainless woman, the idiot boy’s mother. Inyuttet truly worked in strange ways, but who was she to question her god?
She tapped a staccato rhythm on the stonework with the edge of the fine gilded circlet that served as her badge of office. The gold matched the patterned edging that traced the borders of her deep blue robe. She was a striking woman at any time, with her smooth olive skin, deep red hair, and full features, but with all the trappings of High Priestess, she had the power to turn heads. She had her robes cut purposely in a way that would emphasize her attributes. Other women looked at her and felt inferior in her presence. So what if they hated her for it?
Now a mere five days remained till the culmination of years of planning. She, High Priestess of Inyuttet, had power, but not enough—not yet. She stared down at the headpiece she held in her fingers and tutted. Using a fold of her robe, she polished the black jackal-headed gem mounted at the peak of the golden circlet. Once more, the Dreaming God would walk upon the earth. After so many centuries, the Jackal God would wake. She, who had been his mouthpiece for these many years, would soon stand beside him. The world could only tremble beneath her gaze as she stood with Him at her side. Carefully, she lifted the circlet and placed it upon her brow. Carefully adjusting its position, she turned away from the crowded streets below.
Alaika strode into the complex of adjoining rooms that served as her personal chambers. She motioned to the pair of acolytes standing by the door and gestured for them to leave her. She wanted to be alone as she prepared. First, there was the daily audience to deal with. That would last for two hours or more, wasting more valuable time. She would have to sit there in the vast hall behind the boy and listen as if she wasn’t listening, whisper things to him so that he might at least be seen to make his judgments and keep his foolish mouth in check.
It was the same three times a week. An endless line of petitioners filed through the Great Hall, airing their grievances or begging for one thing or the other. She had better things to think about than their petty needs. The time for Inyuttet’s awakening was almost here.
Chapter 3
Black curtains framed the doorway, hanging at both sides and drawn tight with a golden cord. The smell of incense from within drifted sweet and cloying into the confines of the narrow street. Cracked stone flags lining the approach to the doorway were worn smooth in places by the passage of many feet. This laneway had known the comings and goings of countless years, the passage of time etched deep upon its surface. No sign hung above the doorway. None was needed.
Bakir scratched the greasy itching of his scalp and then at one armpit. Nervously he shifted his weight from foot to foot. He picked with one dirty fingernail at the ruins of his teeth as he hesitated. A slight tremor ran through his body and he twitched with it, looking nervously from side to side. Bakir did not want to be here. This was not a good place. He lived close enough to death as it was without inviting it into his life. He wiped his nose with one filthy sleeve and felt in the pocket of his robe. The reassuring crackle of the parchment secreted within the grey and stained fabric was still there. So was the weight of the silver piece, and there was to be another one like it waiting for him. That was enough to spur him on.
Wiping his face with the back of his hand and running his fingers through the mat of plastered hair, he steeled himself. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could get the piece that matched the silver already in his pocket. Then he could be away. He just wished this job didn’t have to bring him here, to the Guild of Silent Sorrows.
Plucking up his courage, he ducked through the curtains and peered through the gloom and incense fog within. A brazier in one corner glowed dim red, not quite enough to illuminate, but enough to stave off total darkness. On the opposite wall hung another draped curtain, concealing Bakir knew not what. He guessed another doorway lay behind it, for there were no other exits or entrances to the room.
The thick haze stung his eyes and they begin to water. There was a sharp scent of smoking herbs and exotic gums. He wiped his nose on his sleeve once more and patted the pocket with the concealed parchment as he peered around through the murk. Off in one corner stood a table, a roughhewn wooden affair, nothing fancy, and behind it a chair. He squinted at it. With a start, he took a step backwards. On the chair sat a figure, obscured in the shadows by a night-black robe. The figure had its head bowed towards the table, concealing its face. Bakir was not sure it had been there when he had entered, but he had seen and heard nothing move.
Slowly, the hooded figure raised its head and Bakir could feel its gaze upon him, dark as the color of the robe. His body trembled and it was all he could do to stop himself from running. There was a long calculating silence and then a deep female voice issued from within the hood’s shadows.
“Approach if you have business here. If not, begone, foolish man.”
“Apologies, M…M…Mistress,” he stammered. “Bakir bears you a message. Bakir would not disturb you, Mistress.”
“Come. Come closer, Bakir. Let your Mistress see what you bring her.”
He fumbled nervously, then managed to drag forth the smeared and crumpled parchment from within his robe. Holding it gingerly in one outstretched hand, he took a step towards the table.
“Come, Bakir, bring what you have to me,” she said, coaxing him. “That’s right. Show me what you have for your Mistress.”
Encouraged by the thought of the extra silver piece that awaited him at the end of this ordeal, Bakir dropped the parchment on the table in front of her and quickly withdrew his hand.
“Good, Bakir. Good,” she murmured soothingly. “Now, let us see.”
Slowly, one black-gloved hand reached out across the table to the parchment and drew it close. Then another hand appeared to smooth it. When the parchment finally lay flat upon the table, she bowed her head, peering at what was written beneath the greasy marks. She tilted it towards the dim light issuing from the doorway. It seemed to take an age before there was any reaction. Finally, when Bakir thought he could stand the wait no longer, she spoke.
“Ahh.” A sigh almost like a sound of pleasure. “You have done well. You may go now, Bakir. Leave us in peace.”
“But Mistress, he said…He said that…”
“Ah yes, I almost forgot.” He could almost feel the smile in the words. “Thank you for reminding me. Now, Bakir, come with me. Follow.”
She pushed back the chair, rose slowly to her feet and turned, gliding towards the drapery at the rear of the room. The parchment lay on the table, as if forgotten. Bakir looked from the parchment discarded so carelessly, to the curtain-draped doorway and back again, unsure. Finally, the lure of the extra silver proved too much, and he followed behind her as she ducked beneath the curtain, anticipation of his payment welling greedily inside him. Carefully lifting the curtain to one side, he too ducked his head beneath.
Only his instinct, borne of years of survival on the streets, saved him. He felt, rather than saw, the thin silver blade as it rose and fell towards his neck. He caught merely a glimmer of its reflection, but it was enough. In the same instant he threw himself backwards and, scrabbling for purchase on the smooth stone floor, propelled himself, slipping and sliding on the tiles, back out through the door to the alley. Her laughter followed him derisively out onto the street and pursued him until he fell panting, a bundle of rags in an open doorway.
Slowly Bakir’s fear subsided. He was as nothing to them, but that did not matter. They had taken advantage of him. The great Master who had sent him on the small task had nothing to gain from harming him, a lowly denizen of the streets. He could see no reason why the Guild would mean him harm either. How dare they try to put an end to his life! He would remember this. At least he had managed to hold on to the silver piece given to him in advance. That much would keep his belly full for a few days.
He thrust his hand down into his robes to reassure himself that it was still there, scanning the street furtively in both directions. If any of his brethren discovered that he had so much wealth, he was bound to be at risk. He would have to be careful about where and how he spent it.
Such an amount was as nothing to the Master who had given it to him or to those of the circles that man moved in. Bakir knew that, and it was enough to prompt his greed even further. He realized suddenly, with a cunning grown in the streets, that there might be a way that he could get more.
Chewing on the end of one filthy thumb, his eyes narrowed in thought, Bakir started to construct his plan. Knowledge could be a precious thing in certain circles. All he had to do was find the right people to talk to, but he must do so carefully. Bakir had done his duty to the Master, faithfully borne the message. Well he knew who that Master was. He was sure that there were others who would be interested in knowing that a particular Master had dealings with a certain Mistress of the Guild of Silent Sorrows.
Struggling to his feet, he tottered off down the narrow alleyway, sniffling and muttering, feeling particularly pleased with himself.
Chapter 4
The High Priestess’s thoughts were broken by a polite cough from the doorway. Alaika looked up to see one of her acolytes adorned in the simple blue robe of her position, standing, with head bowed and hands crossed, waiting to be acknowledged. With a brief frown of annoyance, she motioned the girl forward.
“Well, speak, child. What is it?”
“I apologize for the intrusion, Mother. I would not have come, but…”
“But what, girl? Out with it.”
“Well, it is just that Sister Gernda said that she had a matter requiring your immediate attention and—”
“Good, good,” she said dismissively with a wave of her hand.
Alaika thought for a moment. Gernda was one of the cleverer members of her group; she had a good nose for trouble. She would not have sent the girl unless it was something that really did require her attention.
“Where is Sister Gernda now?” she asked.
“She awaits you in the small audience room below, Mother…and Mother, she has a man with her.” There seemed to be some doubt in the girl’s voice.
“Does she now? Good. Thank you, my child. You can go. Return to your duties.” She dismissed her with a quick incline of her head.
Alaika was intrigued. Whom could Gernda possibly have with her to cause such a reaction?
Smoothing her robes into place, she left her private apartments and descended the broad winding stairs that led to the chambers below.
She measured her steps as she descended, taking her time to reach the complex of rooms set aside within the palace for temple use. It did not do to appear too eager. She paused for a moment outside, listening, but hearing nothing, silently opened the small door.
It had well-oiled hinges and opened behind a heavily draped alcove. It added to the mystery if she could appear and disappear from the room unobserved and unheard. Alaika could simply stand and listen if it suited her designs. This she did now for several heartbeats, but heard nothing but the breathing and slight shuffling of those who waited beyond. Wasting no further time, she slipped inside the room proper.
The deep blue of her robes matched the color of the curtains almost perfectly, something that was no accident. It took only time enough for three breaths until they noticed her presence, but it was long enough for her to see all she wanted or needed to know.
Gernda stood as far away as possible from the man she watched, her stern brow signifying her displeasure. Both occupants noticed Alaika at the same time. Gernda shot her a glance, raising her eyebrows. The man gave a start, looked at her with wild eyes and then dropped his gaze back to the hands he was kneading as he shuffled from foot to foot.
Alaika waited a few moments before indicating to Gernda that she could leave with a slight sideways motion of her head. She knew the Sister would withdraw but stay well within earshot.
The portly Sister, after bowing her head respectfully, slipped behind the curtain to the alcove behind. Now, apparently alone with the man, Alaika moved across to the high-backed, carved, wooden chair that was the only piece of furniture in the small audience chamber, taking her time. She positioned herself comfortably, adjusting her robes and smoothing them down before slowly raising her head to scrutinize the sorry individual who stood before her. She waited, letting her gaze fix and pin him.
“So, what brings you here to our presence—what is your name—Bakir or some such?”
Alaika knew full well that it was his name. It just suited her to look as if he was of little interest to her. As she spoke, her voice turned with the appropriate level of disdain. He was a disgusting little man, this Bakir, but she had found him highly useful on past occasions. From time to time, she could tolerate him, as long as it was at a suitable distance. She wrinkled her nose as the scent of him caught her, even across the space that separated them.
“Ah, Holy Mistress. Bakir, yes, Bakir,” he said nodding vigorously. “Bakir would only seek to help the Holy Mother.” A feral look entering his eyes despite his nervous fidgeting.
“Yes, yes, Bakir,” she said impatiently. “Now what is it?”
“The Holy Mistress knows Bakir. He would only help her. The Holy Mistress knows that Bakir takes great risks to help her.” He narrowed his eyes in his dirt-smeared face as he watched her, wringing his hands some more to emphasize his point.
So it has started, Alaika thought. “What is it you have for me? Tell me what it is, and then we shall see how great these risks are that you have taken.”
He seemed to consider what she had said for a second before grunting to himself and nodding, obviously satisfied that he was now in a bargaining position. He did not even have the pride to look hurt. Normally, it took a long time to extract anything from this one without the glint of coin. It either meant that he was reasonably desperate or sure of himself this time.
“Bakir knows something, Holy Mistress. The Master, see, he made a mistake. Thought Bakir could not read, he did. Mistake. Bakir is smart. Bakir reads what he wrote to her.” He sniffed and nodded as if what he had just said explained everything. When Alaika gave no reaction, he screwed up his face and continued. “You see, Holy Mistress, he sent it to the Guild. To her. Bakir carried it. Bakir read what it said. Bakir knows what he means her to do.” He looked at her again expectantly.
Alaika remembered that every other time she had dealt with this man, she had been forced to pry the sense out of him.
“What Master, Bakir? What Guild are you talking about.”
“Silent Sorrows, Holy Mistress. The Guild of Silent Sorrows,” he said in a whisper and leaned forward.
Now, here at last, was something interesting. The Guild of Silent Sorrows could only mean one thing. The occasional assassination was a regular part of Burkazian life. That Bakir had thought it might be of interest to her in particular was even more intriguing.
“All right, Bakir. Yes, you have done well. Now, who is it that they are interested in?”
“The young boy-king Karol, Holy Mistress, and he would have it done before High Feast.”
“He? Who is he?”
“The Master, Holy Mistress. Bakir does not know his name. The one who gave Bakir the note.”
Alaika frowned. She could not allow anything to interfere with her plans at this stage. Why, the Guild could be about their business even now, and she knew full well that dealing with the Guild was no easy matter.
After a moment’s thought, she called for Gernda. The plump priestess was with her in an instant. Motioning her over, Alaika whispered a few quick instructions. Bakir strained to hear and he twitched and scratched with annoyance. Gernda scurried off to take care of her orders leaving her alone again with the sniveling wretch.
“So, you say you don’t know the name of the Master who sent this note.”
“No, Great Mistress, Bakir does not know this. Bakir knows where the Master lives though. Bakir has done things for him before.”
“Ah well, no matter.”
She could deal with the Guild herself, she was sure. There was no real need to track the instigator of this plot yet. The important thing to do now was to cut off the threat. The Guild worked fast and was always efficient, so she had to be very sure they did not succeed in the short days remaining before High Feast. She had already instructed Gernda to make sure that young Karol had a guard of temple people day and night with her whispered command, but she knew that was only a half measure. She must cut the threat off at its source.
Gernda appeared again, and handed her a small leather purse, indicating with a slight nod that her orders were being carried out. Alaika shuffled through the purse before motioning Bakir towards her, making sure to take a deep breath before he approached. Bakir reached forward and took the proffered coin from her hand and as he looked down, his eyes widened, for she had handed him a single gold. Gernda’s face echoed his surprise.
“Now go, Bakir. Make sure that you can be found. We may have need of you again very soon. Quickly now. Go.” She waved him out the door and down the steps to the street.
He was barely out of the room before Gernda started to voice her protest.
“A full gold, Mother? For such as he?”
“I know. It may seem a lot, but it makes sure that he will be around if we need him again. He’s a greedy little rodent and I’m sure he’ll stay in the vicinity in case we have need of him. Particularly, if he thinks there’s the prospect of more where that one came from.”
“I bow to your wisdom, Mother.”
“Good, that’s settled. Now I think we have things to attend to. You heard all?” Gernda nodded her assent. Alaika grimaced and then continued.
“In light of what we’ve learned, I think I’m going to have to make the journey to the Guild itself. The Mistress of Silent Sorrows is a proud one, and I doubt she would accept anything less. I cannot afford any attempts on the boy-king’s life before the ceremony. Of course, we should not announce our visit to the rest of Burkaz. That would be foolish indeed.” Alaika thought for a moment. “You will accompany me. Pick two of the more able temple guards to come with us. Have them wear commoner’s clothes, and you do the same. It is time to pay our esteemed Mistress of Silent Sorrows a long overdue visit.”
Chapter 5
Over the next few weeks, Tarith made the most of her discovery. She found every opportunity to slip away to the library below the temple and explore the crumbling books, disappearing every time she thought she would not be missed. And as she read more, the more she learned.
Through the brittle pages two ever-present symbols wove. There was light and there was dark. The light of life and the darkness of death, and beyond, that which was not known. Neither the light nor the dark could be explained by anything as simple as good and evil. The two states were of neither good nor evil, they just were.
The books also told of those who could weave those powers and change things. They spoke of gods and magic beyond the things she knew, and every day her fascination grew. And as time passed, with every visit below, her mind drifted further and further away from the routine of her duties.
As the season of harvest drew near, there were ceremonies and invocations. There were portents to decipher and augers to be made. The simple peasant folk looked to the temple at this time for the reassurance that their crops would be strong; that no mysterious blight would come forth from the river mud to take away all they had toiled for. With the hunger for god-given guarantees, came gifts and tributes. Meager though they were, they had to be counted and collated and assigned. For the temple, the time leading up to harvest was almost as busy as the harvest itself.
She sat now in one of the storerooms with tributes piled all around her. Her stylus and wax tablet lay on the floor in front of her. Her thoughts were far away from the room as she daydreamed. She was standing on a hilltop looking down at a vast horde, and she wove power and force with her hands and mind. She kneaded the forces, preparing to cast the invaders from the field.
“Scribe Tarith? You are wanted in one of the side chambers. Achmir would see you.”
The voice had startled her, and for a moment, she struggled to remember where she was. A temple eunuch stood at the door.
Tarith nodded, her heart pounding in her ears and reached down to pack her stylus and the wax tablet away in her small, woven, reed carry case. The eunuch waited patiently as she prepared. She knew she’d better hurry if Scribe Achmir wanted her.
Thanking the Face of the Sun that this time she had been in the storeroom and not below, she got to her feet and followed the eunuch through the Main Hall to one of the smaller rooms that dotted the edges of the complex. He led her to the tiny cell and bade her wait. Tarith sat down to do just that, swinging her legs as she listened to the sound of footsteps receding across the cool stone floor.
The painted friezes that adorned the walls in deep ochre hues depicted scenes from various stories. She had never paid them much attention before, but now, as she waited, she looked at them more closely, trying to work out what they showed. She recognized some of the scenes, and then she made the link. They were depictions of stories contained in the ancient pages in the library deep below her. Panel after panel depicted tales of deeds and works. Here, inscribed upon the very temple walls, lay pages telling of the Greatness. She leaned back while she waited and tilted her head to one side to better see one particular series.
She had reached the third panel down when old scribe, Achmir, suddenly appeared, interrupting her examination. He walked into the room and stood opposite, looking at her without expression. Carefully, he placed the carrying case containing his tools on the stone table between them, and lowered himself to sit facing her. Folding his hands on the smooth surface before him, Achmir watched her for a second or two longer with his dark, bright eyes before breaking the silence.
“What is happening, my girl?”
Tarith gave him a small frown. She had fond memories of Achmir. He had been largely responsible for her early training and had performed the task with patience and care, not like some of the others. He had always encouraged her, always allowing digressions to explore those things that caught her interest.
She could guess why he had drawn her aside, but she tried to control her expression and smile. For once, he had no smile for her in return. He searched her face, then sighed.
“Would you lose your position here amongst us in the temple?” he said.
The smile rapidly disappeared from Tarith’s face.
“What do you mean?” she asked, cold growing in her stomach.
He pursed his lips and a frown creased his leathery brow. “Do you not appreciate the fortune of your life and position here?”
“What is it, Achmir? What have I done?”
“Ah Tarith,” he said with a sigh. “I know you better than that. Do not pretend ignorance. You are no longer a young child. You were taken in here, given a life of standing and comfort, and yet you risk throwing that all away. Daily your absences grow. You are sought and yet you are nowhere to be found. Do you think we are all stupid?”
Tarith looked down and toyed with her tool case.
Achmir continued. “For now, you can think yourself fortunate; it is only the scribes that have noted your absence, and the talk grows among them. Soon, others will see. There are some—I have no need to name the names—who would be done with you now. I do not include myself among that number. I have always had a special interest in you, child. For that reason, I have taken it upon myself to seek a solution to this problem—for problem it is, my girl. It is very important to me that you succeed here. More important than you can know.”
He sat back and let out a long breath. “So, what is it? Tell me what it is that troubles you?”
“Oh Achmir, I’m bored. I’m sick of the same thing every day. Don’t you get bored too?” she asked.
Achmir cleared his throat and pursed his lips, avoiding an answer. “So where do you sneak off to every day? Is it a boy you’ve found?”
“What do you mean?” she asked indignantly. She had far more important things to do than trouble herself with boys.
“Ah, good. So, it is not that. I don’t mind telling you that there were real doubts taking a girl child into the temple. It was so unusual. We had to work long and hard to have it accepted.” He paused, thinking. “You’re not a lazy girl. I cannot believe that you are merely shirking your duties. So, where do you hide away?”
“I don’t hide away. I just walk and, well, I think.” She trusted the old scribe, but not enough to talk of her discovery, to reveal the treasures she had found to occupy the empty places in her day.
“Hmm,” he responded. Tarith thought for a moment he was going to smile, but apart from a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, his expression remained serious.
“Well, be that the case or not, it’s not good enough. You do realize how serious it is?” Tarith bit her lip as Achmir fixed her with a troubled look. “Is that what you want,” he continued. “To return to the streets? Where would you be now? With your parents taken in The Death, you would have nothing to go to. You have no one but the temple. You may have thought your parents were just simple folk, but they sent you to me for a purpose. Would you dishonor them by ignoring their wishes?” He paused and Tarith looked back down at her hands, finding it difficult to meet his gaze.
“Now, I confess, I’m fond of you, Tarith. You were one of my most able pupils, and I would prefer not to see you end that way—back on the streets in ignorance. It would be such a waste. Though it may earn protest from some of the less charitable among us, I think I can hold them at bay…for at least a time. I would not have all our work wasted.”
“What must I do, Achmir?” she said, finally starting to realize exactly what he was telling her.
He nodded, apparently satisfied with her response. “Now, listen to me. This is what I want you to do. Do you believe that you can show dedication to your tasks for the next few weeks? Because if you can’t, then I will have no recourse. You understand that?” He held her with a stern gaze.
She nodded slowly. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Nothing more, nothing less, than pay full attention to your duties…Be seen to be diligent. No wandering. No disappearances. The others must see that you are committed. If you can do this much for me, then all is not lost. The time has come to help you realize your potential. But if you cannot do what I ask…”
The implication hung in the air between them.
The chill in Tarith’s abdomen grew. This was really serious.
“Yes, I promise I’ll try.”
“No Tarith, trying is not enough. You must do it.” He fixed her with a sharp look. “Do I have your word?”
She nodded. His eyes narrowed slightly, then he nodded in return. “Good. So, I will do what I can. But for now, I have duties to attend to and so, I think, do you. We will speak again in due course. I pray that I can trust you not to disappoint me, Tarith. There is too much at stake.”
He climbed to his feet, picked up his tool case and walked out into the echoing vault of the temple hall. Taking a deep breath and biting her lip, Tarith did the same.
Chapter 6
Daily, Tarith ached within, knowing the wealth of undiscovered knowledge tempting her below, but she remained true to her word. Day in and day out, she tallied and scribed, sitting at the feet of plain-robed priests as they oversaw the piles of goods and tributes piled before them. She supervised their counting and stacking and dutifully made her reports of the takings. She checked and rechecked the numbers that counted the amounts that went to the priesthood to make them rich. This she did with her longing and frustrations muttering inside her, making her resent the bald headed ones more and more. But out of respect to the old scribe, she pushed those feeling down.
When the longing finally became too great, she started to arrive earlier, to give herself at least a chance to visit the library, but never could she stay too long in case she was found missing. So, she stayed later into the evening, reading and learning, searching for answers to the new questions that rose with every new page.
Harvest grew nearer as the heat grew stronger. The cool sanctuary of the temple walls reminded her of the ease of the life she led, compared to the poor who toiled in the harsh light of the sun outside. That knowledge helped concentrate her mind on the daily tasks.
The greens of the riverbanks turned to gold. The light of the day stretched on deeper into the night and the poor strained their backs and sweated to fill the vast storerooms of the temple. Tarith held to her promise to Achmir, knowing she had little choice, just as those who toiled in the fields around Akkar had little choice. Daily she wondered how long it could continue like this.
At last, her waiting came to an end, and Achmir beckoned her into a small chamber.
“You have not disappointed me, Tarith. I am pleased. If only you knew the arguments I had to make. I was sure it would turn out well though, and so it has.” He paused, studying her face.
“I understand the frustrations you must feel. It is a dreary existence in many ways, far more suited to old men than a young woman, but I believe I have a solution for both of us—one I think that will please you.”
Tarith leaned forward. Achmir smiled, drawing out the moment. “The harvest is almost through now, and soon the caravans will be leaving Akkar to go and ply their trade in other places. You know that one of the duties which fall to the scribes is to accompany the caravans and record their dealings for the temple records. I myself am now too old for the rigors of such a journey, but one as young as you…”
“Achmir, are you serious? Do you truly mean—?”
“Yes, child. I would have you travel in my stead. I know of your thirst for knowledge and I have some idea of what it is you seek. There were times in my youth when I too was consumed with such a thirst—when it was more important to me than anything else. We are no longer what we once were, we of the temple.” He slowly shook his head. “The Time of Greatness and knowledge has long faded and now corruption sits upon us, dragging us daily towards ignorance. I would not see a mind such as yours stagnate and go to waste with the rest.” He peered at her before continuing.
“I can see there is no need to ask if you want to go. Good. If only you knew how important this will be. Let the Face of the Sun smile kindly upon our venture. I will see to the preparations.”
“I…I don’t know what to say.” Tarith could barely keep the excitement from her voice.
“Say nothing. Just do as you have been doing for the past few weeks. Attend to your duties, do not fail them and all will be put in place. You will depart two weeks hence.”
She was bursting with questions. “What do I need to do?”
He was firm, lifting a hand to still her. “Simply what I have said, Tarith. Just be sure to do nothing to upset the balance. Everything will be put in place.”
Looking satisfied, Achmir clambered to his feet and nodding, turned to leave. Just as he reached the door, he looked back over his shoulder.
“Oh, there is one thing you can do for me, Tarith. From now until the time you leave, will you stay away from the old library in the passages below?”
The skin around his eyes creased in amusement as he turned to depart. Tarith stared openmouthed at his retreating back.
Chapter 7
Alaika looked down from her balcony and smiled. Crowds lined the streets waiting eagerly for the procession that would take the boy-king Karol to his meeting with Inyuttet. Soon, her plans would be sealed. She looked out towards the island, Inyuttet’s place of slumber, knowing she was ready, and turned to finish her preparations.
First, she had to collect Karol, and make sure the fool boy remembered everything he was meant to do. She motioned for the two acolytes standing at either side of her door to follow as she headed for the boy-king’s chambers. He should be there now, temple functionaries assisting him with his preparations.
Alaika took her time walking through the palace hallways. No longer was there any need for urgency. She had cut off the threat to her plans at the source. After her message from the Mistress of Silent Sorrows, she used Bakir to confirm that Pharos was indeed the one behind the plot on Karol’s life. It had been an easy matter to deal with the boy’s uncle. A simple robbery at his grand walled villa had gone horribly wrong. It had worked out quite well, really. As Pharos had no other surviving relatives, all his property and lands had passed to Karol himself. Appropriate payment for hatching the plot in the first place. Alaika nodded to herself. Inyuttet sometimes worked in strange ways.
The pair of palace guards outside Karol’s door snapped to attention as Alaika approached. Now that Pharos had been removed, she had decided to leave security to the palace rather than her own temple guards. At this stage, it would not do at all to be too visible about her control of the situation. Afterwards, it wouldn’t matter. She breezed past the guards into Karol’s chambers, her two acolytes following close behind.
“Well, Karol, are you ready?”
The boy looked up from the plain white robe he wore, where an attendant fussed with the hem. He sported simple sandals on his feet and an unadorned gold circlet on his brow. His auburn hair hung in curls about his face, and his eyes were wide as he caught her gaze.
“I…I think so,” he said, unable to disguise the nervousness in his voice.
“Karol, I have been through this with you I don’t know how many times already. You are the King. Act like you are King. A King is not afraid.”
“But it’s so hard. I’m scared.”
“Just remember who you are. Show the people their ruler is strong. I will be there beside you on your journey down to the waterside. Only after we reach the lake will you be alone. Now, you remember what you have to do?”
“Yes. After we reach the water, I get on the boat and it will take me to the island in the center of the lake. After that, I get out of the boat and walk to the middle of the island. There’s a small stone temple there. I am to go inside and wait.”
Alaika looked at the boy and considered. They were simple enough instructions. How could he get them wrong? “All right, Karol. And that’s all you have to do. After you wait there for a while, you will fall asleep. Inyuttet will come to you in your dreams and he will tell you of the year to come. In the morning you will awake, and the same boat will bring you back to Burkaz.”
The boy worked his mouth and pressed his lips tightly together. His eyes were wide and moist. Oh, in Inyuttet’s name, he was going to start crying.
“What is it now?”
“I’m afraid. What if I don’t fall asleep? What if I don’t understand what he tells me? What then?”
“Inyuttet will make sure you understand all. Now be strong, King Karol. Your people need you.”
The two attendants who had been fussing round the boy finished what they were doing and stood back. Alaika nodded to them and they backed away. She held out her hand and motioned the boy to step forwards.
“Come. It’s time.” She took his hand and pulled him towards the door. The two temple acolytes followed, hands crossed over their chests. They moved as a group out into the hall and the two palace guards at the doorway fell in beside them. As they reached the top of the wide central stairway that ran down to the main entrance hall, two more guardsmen fell in behind. Alaika took a deep breath. The boy dragged at her hand, and she tugged at his arm to make him keep up. As long as he maintained his composure, nothing could go wrong now. Nothing.
Slowly the processional party made their way down the wide marble steps and on towards the massive iron doors that served as the palace main entrance. guardsmen, both palace and temple stood to attention to either side, lining the length of the hall, bare chests glistening and spear points shining. Two more palace guardsmen stood waiting at the main doors, ready to swing them wide at the party’s approach. Still Karol dragged behind and Alaika looked down at him, narrowed her eyes and gave his arm a slight tug. His eyes only grew wider and started to brim with tears.
“You are King! Act like it,” she said quietly but forcefully between clenched teeth. He swallowed, sniffed and nodded. “Good,” she said, satisfied that he was sufficiently under control for them to proceed. She lifted her head to signal the guardsmen and they swung the doors wide.
A tumult of cheers and cries came from beyond the doors as the waiting crowd saw them opening. Alaika stepped out with Karol onto the broad stone steps leading down to the Palace Square. The courtyard was full of faces. The cheering erupted into a thunderous roar as they stepped into the sunlight. She glanced down and noted with satisfaction that the gold circlet upon his brow caught the light well.
She squeezed the boy’s hand and he raised his arm, as she had taught him. The thunder subsided to a muted wash of voices, and then stilled, except for a low continuous murmur. Alaika looked out across the crowd, down the twin lines of night-blue and gold pennants held by guardsmen lining the stairs, back down at the boy, then raised her own hands.
“Here witness your King,” she called across the courtyard.
“We witness our King,” came the reply, one massed voice in the ritual response.
“This day he travels.”
“Our prayers travel with him.”
“He brings back your future. May the face of Inyuttet smile in his dreams.” She saw several in the front rows make the Sign of the Jackal on their foreheads. One by one, members of the crowd bowed their heads and closed their eyes. Alaika lowered her arms. After an appropriate pause, she raised her arms again and spoke the final words of the ritual.
“The Dreaming God calls.”
“Go to him,” said the crowd, as one.
She reached down, took the boy’s hand and stepped down onto the first step. At their first movement, the crowd erupted in cheering again. Deliberately, Alaika took one step at a time, not too quickly, nor too slowly.