The Sword Of Angels

11

The first thing Lukien noticed was the farmland. Lush and green, it spread out from the banks of the river all along its winding length. Beautiful, fragile, the farmland ended again where the desert took hold, but near the river it flourished, sending up sprouts of grass and hearty crops. Lukien let the vision wash over him, nourishing his depleted spirit. His eye scanned the horizon. From atop the rugged hill he could see for miles. The small village below beckoned him with its simple homes. Near the river, men and women toiled with chores while children played along the banks, their chatter barely perceptible above the stirring wind. Homes of mud and stone stood squat against the bright horizon, dozens of simple buildings with the same weathered exterior. A path ran from the village toward the mountains where Lukien waited, standing alone in the breeze. He had crested the mountain to see the horizon, wondering if he was at last getting close to Tharlara. When he saw the village, it had taken his breath away.

Lukien waited at the end of the high hill, looking down on the peaceful village, unnoticed. His horse waited for him at the base of the hill, exhausted from the long trek. For days they had followed the river the way Raivik had told them, leaving the dead Akari city to continue their lonely journey. And they had not encountered another soul along the way until now. Lukien listened, trying hard to hear the laughing children far below. They were beautiful to him, playing some imaginative game in the sweltering sun while their parents worked the soil and washed clothes in the river. A great sense of happiness welled up in Lukien, crushing his loneliness. It seemed like an eternity had passed since he’d said good-bye to Raivik, leaving Kaliatha to quest for Tharlara. In the days of endless riding that followed, he had missed his friends in Grimhold desperately. With only his horse and the river for company, he had watched the land slowly change from dead and rugged to the pretty valley now below him.

By now the river had widened into a remarkable body of water, slowly flowing eastward. Oxen lowered their huge heads to drink from its banks, while fishermen in little boats cast their nets, far from the village. Drying clothes waved like white flags, and barefoot women sat in happy circles, husking vegetables. Lukien carefully picked his way back down the hillside to where his horse waited, nibbling at the meagre grass.

‘You’ll be eating better than that soon,’ he told the beast. ‘We’ve found something at last.’

Lukien led his horse back the way they had come, then scooted around the hill to its northern face. The range of hills gave way to a great expanse of flat earth. Lukien looked around, then noticed the best place to cross. The weary horse perked up at the sight of the moderate terrain. Together they walked the grassy plain toward the path, which Lukien now noticed disappeared into the mountains toward the west. Eastward, though, the path was distinct, leading directly toward the village. He and his horse stepped onto the path and walked quietly along the river bank, toward the villagers and their modest homes.

With sunlight splaying across his face, Lukien cupped a hand over his brow. Cooking fires spiraled into the blue sky. The smell of the river and its loamy shore filled his nostrils. The river beside him moved sluggishly, like thick wine. Up ahead, a group of children played near the bank where the river had flooded the field, splashing in the mud. Lukien squinted for a better look. They were not dark-skinned like the Jadori, but fairer, like the Akari, but without that race’s peculiar, pointed features. The eyes of the children were vaguely almond shaped, their skin the colour of honey. Both boys and girls played together, too busy with their games to notice Lukien.

‘Hello?’ he ventured, coming to a stop near the field. The boy nearest him, standing ankle-deep in mud, looked up from his playmates. Lukien quickly held up his hands. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said. ‘I’m a friend.’

The boy got the attention of the others, all of whom blinked up in confusion. They were a fair distance from the adults in the village. One young girl called helplessly to her far away parents.

‘Haka!’

‘No, don’t,’ Lukien repeated. He lowered himself as he met the girl’s gaze. ‘I’m just looking for a place to rest.’ He stroked his unkempt beard. ‘I must look frightening. I’ve been on the road a long time.’

Lukien looked at the children. Except for one tiny boy too preoccupied with the river to bother with him, they all stared in awe. Past them, back in the village, none of the adults had heard the girl’s shout.

‘I wish you could understand me,’ he said.

The boy who had first sighted him cocked his head. ‘We understand you.’

Lukien reared back. In his ears he heard the tongue, foreign and strange, but in his head he heard the words. At once he reached for the Eye of God, which had begun to burn against his chest.

‘You do?’ Lukien asked. ‘You know what I’m saying?’

The boy looked at his playmates in confusion. The children all nodded.

‘Who are you?’ the boy asked. Again Lukien heard his voice vibrating in his skull, knowing it was magic that translated his language.

‘My name is Lukien,’ he said. He pressed down on the amulet hidden beneath his shirt, feeling its pulsing warmth and the ever-present Amaraz within it. He searched his brain for the presence of the great Akari, but felt only his own thoughts. ‘I come from a place very far away,’ he continued. ‘Past the mountains and the dead city. I followed the river to get here.’

The children gathered closer, pulling themselves from the mud to get a better look. Their curious, dirty faces lit with amazement.

‘The dead city? Where?’ asked the girl who had first feared him.

Lukien pointed over the mountains. ‘Back there, many miles. I came from there days ago.’

The boy spoke again. ‘You walked?’

‘And rode,’ replied Lukien.

‘What happened to your face?’ asked another child, this one a girl slightly younger than the first. She frowned as she noticed Lukien’s missing eye.

‘I lost my eye in a fight. It was a long time ago. Can you take me into the village?’

The children looked at each other, unsure how to answer. Lukien gazed past them toward the smallest boy, still playing very close to the river bank. Something strange floated in the water. Like a log, it moved with ease through the still river, dark and barely visible, gliding toward the wading boy. While the children argued, Lukien puzzled over the thing, his smile fading. .

‘Fate above!’ he cried. Exploding past the others, he raced toward the bank. ‘Move!’

At the edge of the flooded bank, the boy heard Lukien’s cry and slowly turned to see what was wrong. Seeing the Bronze Knight charging toward him, the boy startled and fell backward into the mud. The children shouted. The living log slithered quickly onto the bank, its jaws opening to snatch the fallen boy. Lukien sprang with a shout, launching himself against the crocodile. His hand flew to his dagger, unsheathing it and slashing it forward as he landed on the lizard. The boy shrieked in terror. The crocodile rolled its muscled body through the mud. Lukien felt the blade scratch across the lizard’s armoured hide, then the sickening lurch as the beast spun him over. The great jaws hissed, clamping down on his arm. A dazzling pain ripped through his body. He heard the children shouting in the distance, their frenzied voices filling his ears. Through the muddy haze he saw the tiny boy still sitting helplessly nearby. Lukien wrenched his arm free of the crocodile’s jaw, tearing off his sleeve and tatters of skin. With his other arm he went for the monster’s belly.

This time, the dagger bit deep, ripping through the yellow flesh. A hot ooze soaked Lukien’s hand. He peddled quickly backward, gasping to get away as the crocodile thrashed in hissing pain. The water around them blackened with gore. Lukien pulled himself desperately from the mud, his wounded arm burning with pain. When he reached the screaming child he scooped the boy up over the bank, struggling to reach safety. The crocodile snapped its great head upward, its eyes rolling beneath it’s filmy lids. Lukien deposited the frantic boy on the bank and watched as the lizard’s stubby legs thrashed and twitched, the dagger still in its belly. A great rent had opened in its flesh, spilling blood into the water.

‘Mother whore,’ gasped Lukien, falling to his knees. His arm throbbed in agony. Around him the other children began to rally, some shouting for the adults in the village, others comforting the muddied tot. Hunched in pain, Lukien fought to keep from fainting.

‘You are hurt!’ cried the boy who had first spoken. His eyes widened as he examined Lukien’s arm, then flicked toward the dying crocodile. ‘You killed it.’

Lukien nodded, grunting instead of speaking. He knew he was lucky his arm hadn’t been lost. The pain was enormous, but the crocodile had only barely caught his flesh. He closed his eyes, steadying his breath. Already the Eye of God began to work its magic, filling his body with healing warmth.

‘Help me, Amaraz,’ he whispered. ‘Help me. .’

The spirit of the Eye awakened, and the red jewel spread its light across Lukien’s chest. The pain in his arm began to ebb. Like a miracle, he felt the teeth marks knitting closed and the blood stop flowing from his wounds. As always, Amaraz remained mysteriously silent. Lukien didn’t bother thanking the Akari. He began breathing normally, knowing he would be all right.

‘We’ll help you,’ said the boy. He took Lukien’s unhurt arm and tried lifting the knight to his feet. Lukien rose unsteadily, blinking to clear his one good eye, searching for the little boy. The boy was sobbing and talking at the same time, choking on his words. A team of children circled him. The boy helping Lukien glanced up at him, plainly awed by what he’d done. ‘You killed the hooth. You saved him.’

Lukien looked back toward the dead crocodile. ‘Hooth? Is that what you call them?’

‘We should have watched for them,’ said the boy. ‘The hooth sometimes come here to feed.’

‘My dagger. .’

‘I’ll get it,’ the boy volunteered.

Lukien quickly snagged his sleeve. ‘Don’t. Just leave it.’

By now adults were coming from the village, running to see what had happened. A young, attractive woman raced away from the rest of them, her eyes locked on the frantic little boy. He was no more than two years old, Lukien supposed, and the woman — most likely his mother — sprinted like an athlete to reach him. Not even noticing Lukien, she skidded to her knees in front of the boy, hugging and kissing him. The children around her began offering explanations. Remarkably, Lukien understood them all. As quickly as they spoke, the magic of the amulet deciphered their words. Within moments, a dozen more adults had arrived at the river bank, stopping to stare when they noticed Lukien. One of them, a large man with a troubled expression, called out to the woman, kneeling beside her and the child.

‘Who’s that?’ Lukien asked.

‘That’s Jahan,’ the boy answered. ‘Naji’s father.’

Once he realized his son was unhurt, Jahan stood to confront Lukien. His dark eyes surveyed the stranger, but Lukien could not read his expression. Jahan simply looked intrigued. He was about the age of his wife, a youngish thirty, and dressed like the others in his village, in loose fitting clothes and a fabric belt cinched around his waist. A tightly pulled pony-tail of jet hair ran down his back.

‘Who are you?’ he asked. His almond-shaped eyes narrowed on Lukien.

‘My name is Lukien,’ said the knight. ‘I’m a traveller, new to these parts.’

Jahan puzzled over the reply. ‘You speak as we do? But not as we do. Where are you from?’

‘From Liiria,’ said Lukien. ‘A place far away.’ He didn’t want to say more about the language or the magic that made their conversation possible. ‘My home is east of here, past the mountains,’ he said. ‘Past the dead city and the desert.’

‘What happened to my son?’

It was the boy who answered, speaking up to defend Lukien. ‘A hooth, Jahan. Naji was playing too close to the water. We were watching him, Jahan. But then this man came. .’

‘You saved my boy from the hooth?’ Jahan asked.

Lukien rubbed his still throbbing arm. ‘I saw the crocodile in the water.’

‘He killed it!’ said one of the girls. ‘We all saw.’

Jahan stepped closer, examining Lukien’s arm. ‘That needs tending.’

‘I’ll be all right,’ said Lukien. ‘But I could use a place to rest, and maybe some food. I’m no danger to anyone. As I said, I’m just a traveller.’

‘You are not like anyone I have ever seen,’ said Jahan. ‘And no one comes from the east. I have questions.’

‘I’ll try to answer them if I can,’ said Lukien. He gestured toward the man’s son. ‘Have you checked him? Is he hurt?’

Jahan looked back at his son, who had at last stopped sobbing. Jahan’s wife still cradled the boy in her arms, holding his head against her breast. She told her husband that the boy was merely frightened. Relieved, Jahan looked back at Lukien.

‘I am grateful for what you did,’ he said. ‘Every year the hooth take someone from us. If not for you, it would have been my son.’

‘You are welcome,’ said Lukien. ‘And don’t blame the children. It wasn’t their fault. They would have watched your son, but I startled them when they saw me.’

‘You have startled all of us,’ Jahan laughed. ‘A man from the east!’ He glanced around at his fellow villagers, all of whom wore stunned expressions. Some had even gathered around Lukien’s horse, studying the beast as if they’d never seen it’s like before. ‘You say your name is Lukien?’

‘That’s right,’ Lukien replied.

‘Well then, Lukien, you must come to my home. Rest and tell us your story.’

‘I would like that,’ said Lukien with a smile.

Having got Jahan’s approval, Lukien let the children swarm around his legs, pulling at him as they guided him toward the village.

That night, Lukien found himself surrounded by Jahan’s family, sitting near Jahan at the head of a plain table without chairs, sharing a good, basic meal.

For most of the afternoon, Lukien had slept. After being led to Jahan’s modest house, Jahan’s wife Kifuv had cleaned and dressed Lukien’s wounded arm, then taken his muddied clothing out to the river for washing. The home was tiny, with only three rooms for the whole large family, but Jahan had given up the room that he shared with Kifuv so that Lukien could sleep. Exhausted, Lukien slept like a baby for hours, and when he awoke he found clean clothes for him to wear sitting next to the straw mattress. They were not the clothes he had dirtied, but rather traditional garb from Jahan’s own supply — a comfortable white shirt with a large open collar and belt, and a pair of pants that Lukien had to cinch tightly with the cloth belt to keep from falling down. As he was dressing, Jahan came in and led him into the main room of the house, where the family took its meals. There, around the table, sat Kifuv and her six children, including little Naji. Led by Jahan, Lukien took a seat on a small pillow near the ground, thrilled by the sight of the food and humbled by the attention.

Although the village was small, it had provided an ample meal for them. The clay tableware was filled with bread, raisins, honey, and various types of dried fish that had been caught from the river. A brass platter — the only form of metal plate on the table — shone brightly in the torchlight, showcasing a roasted waterfowl that had been slaughtered for the occasion. There were utensils for serving the food, but none for eating, and Lukien had no trouble at all helping himself with his hands, which he could wash in a small, ceramic bowl filled with water when he was done. He still wore the Eye of God hidden beneath his shirt, and though Jahan and Kifuv had both noticed it when he undressed, neither had commented about the strange amulet. Mostly, they were simply convivial to him, as were their children, and Jahan spent the first part of the meal telling Lukien about the hooth, the great river, and their village.

‘There were eleven of us who formed the village,’ Jahan explained proudly. He dipped bread into honey as he talked, then broke off a bit to share with one of his daughters, seated beside him. ‘That is the way the Simiheh do things. When we are growing up as boys we eat together, hunt together, learn together, everything. Then, when we are old enough, we leave together to form our own village. This village is twenty years old now.’

Lukien nodded, interested and full of questions. ‘How did you choose this land? Did no one else have claim to it?’

‘This is the territory of our people,’ said Jahan. ‘It is all Simiheh land.’

‘Simiheh? That is what you call yourselves?’

‘That is our name. My father was Simiheh, and his father before that, and all the fathers of the boys who came to build this village. We are three-hundred now, maybe more.’ Jahan beamed at his wife. ‘A strong village.’

Lukien felt happy for Jahan, and for the pride he took in his accomplishments. But for himself, Lukien felt disappointment. Clearly he was not in Tharlara. He took a drink from his cup, filled with a barley beer. He had taken an immediate liking to the beer.

‘The Simiheh are all around this area,’ Jahan continued. ‘There are five more villages, all nearby. When my sons are old enough, they will go off with the other boys their age, and they will start a new village.’

‘Then what will happen to this village?’ asked Lukien. ‘Who will defend it? Who will work the land?’

Jahan said casually, ‘When the people are gone, the village will be gone.’

‘But what about all you’ve built? What about the homes? I mean, what about the village?’

The question perplexed Jahan, who looked inquisitively at his wife.

‘The village is the people,’ said Kifuv.

Jahan nodded. ‘Yes, that is it. The village is the people. The village is not the things we build. Do you see, Lukien?’

‘I think so,’ Lukien replied. It was very different from the way things were in his part of the world. ‘But tell me again — this is the Simiheh land? Is that what this place is called?’

‘It does not have a name, except that it is the village of Jahan, or the village of the men who began the village with me.’

‘But what about this area? Does it have a name?’

Jahan shrugged. ‘This is the land of the Simiheh. I have told you that already.’

‘I know,’ said Lukien. He slumped a little at the news. ‘So this isn’t Tharlara, then.’

Jahan regarded him oddly. ‘Tharlara? How do you know that word?’

‘It is the word I was told, the name given to the land I seek.’

‘Tharlara is an ancient word. Who told you this word?’

‘A friend,’ said Lukien. ‘His name was Raivik. He’s. . not from around here. He lives by the dead city I told you about.’

‘The dead city of the Akari? You met a man who came from there?’

‘Yes, but it is hard to explain,’ said Lukien. He had already told Jahan about passing through Kaliatha, but not about Raivik, the Akari ghost. Jahan had known nothing of the Akari or their city. ‘Jahan, I am looking for a land called the Serpent Kingdom. I was told that would be Tharlara.’

‘Ah, then you are near the place you seek, Lukien. This is the land of the serpents.’

‘It is?’ Lukien looked around the table. All the children nodded. ‘You mean this is Tharlara?’

‘That is the word for the lands by the river,’ said Jahan. ‘All the villages, all the people, everyone who takes life from the river.’

‘Yes,’ said Lukien, growing excited. ‘That’s what Raivik called it — the riverland.’

‘Wait, Lukien, let me explain. How do I say this? Tharlara is a big word. Does that make sense to you? Tharlara describes everything. It is not really a place, not the way you mean.’

‘I understand,’ said Lukien, ‘but I am looking for a kingdom. A serpent kingdom. You say this is the land of the rass?’

‘All of this land — everywhere that’s called Tharlara — has rass, Lukien. They are part of the land. They are great and special creatures.’

‘Where I come from, they are terrible creatures,’ said Lukien. He had stopped eating, too enthralled by the conversation to have much appetite. ‘Do you not fear them?’

‘They are revered.’ Jahan smiled at his young daughter as he spoke. ‘We respect the rass. We love them because the great rass gives us life.’

‘The great rass? What is that?’

‘The great rass turns the river to blood,’ said Jahan. ‘To feed the land. Without the blooding, the land would die.’

This bit of news made Lukien reel. He leaned forward in earnest. ‘Explain that to me, Jahan. I don’t understand.’

Jahan said, ‘Each year the river swells and floods the land. The waters bring life to the soil. Without the flooding, the land would be useless. And sometimes, the land grows weak, even with the floods. That is when the Great Rass comes. When she is killed, her blood flows into the river, and the river is born again. The river becomes strong, and when it floods the land, the land becomes strong.’

‘And this happens every year?’ asked Lukien.

‘No. Only the flooding happens every year, when the rains are heaviest. But the Great Rass comes only once in a great while. And it is almost time for her to come again.’

It was a fine tale, but fantastic. Lukien tried looking convinced. ‘And this is all true? It is not a myth?’

‘Myth? No, Lukien, it is not a myth,’ said Jahan. ‘The Great Rass is real, just like the rass that live in the rocks beyond our village. Without the Great Rass, the people along the river would perish. What you call Tharlara would die.’

‘What about the Great Rass, then? How does she die?’

‘She is killed in her mountain home,’ said Jahan. ‘By the Red Eminence, he who rules in Torlis. When the time of the Great Rass comes, the Red Eminence battles her and kills her.’

‘So where is Torlis? Is it very far?’

‘Torlis is a long ride from here, Lukien. I do not know how far precisely. None of the Simiheh have ever gone there.’

‘Jahan, I think your village is a wonderful place,’ said Lukien carefully. There was no way he wanted to offend his gracious host. ‘It is beautiful and peaceful, and I could probably be happy for the rest of my life in a place like this. But it is not a kingdom, and I was told to find the Serpent Kingdom. This place called Torlis — it sounds like the place I’m seeking.’

‘It does,’ Jahan admitted. Suddenly he seemed to have lost his appetite as well. He pushed his plate aside and looked at his wife, who smiled back at him, untroubled. ‘The people of Torlis are not Simiheh, Lukien. They are like us, but they are not us. They have never warred with us, but they have never come here to offer friendship either. I do not know what it will be like for you there, or how you will be greeted. Must you really go to Torlis? Is it so important?’

‘Yes,’ said Lukien. ‘It is.’

‘Will you tell me why?’

‘Maybe, but not tonight.’ Lukien grinned. ‘Tonight I want to rest and to eat.’

Jahan seemed satisfied. ‘Then that is what we will do. And when we are done and the moon has come out, I will take you to the river, Lukien.’

‘To the river? Why?’

Now it was Jahan who grinned. ‘I will tell you later,’ he said. ‘Maybe.’

Night had long since fallen by the time the meal ended, and Lukien, full and well rested, waited outside the little clay home for his host to arrive and reveal his strange secret. Most of the villagers had gone inside their own homes; for the moment, Lukien had the world to himself. While he waited for Jahan to say good-night to his children, Lukien gazed around the torch-lit village, smelling the burning incense that filled the air. The odour was sweet and wholly unknown to Lukien, not quite a stink and not a perfume, either. The little homes gathered near the river twinkled with light as parents put their children to sleep and men and women finished their daily chores. Voices reached Lukien’s ears, but they were too far away to understand. The Bronze Knight reached beneath the shirt his new friends had given him and pulled the Eye of God out by its golden chain. The red jewel in its centre continued pulsing with life, shining on Lukien’s face. His wounded arm already felt remarkably better, but that was not the miracle that puzzled him. He rubbed at the jewel with his finger, hoping — wishing — for Amaraz to speak to him.

‘No?’ he whispered. ‘Not tonight?’

Lukien smirked as he stared at the amulet. Only once had he spoken to Amaraz, when Minikin had brought him to the Akari’s magical realm. Even then the great spirit had not spoken to him directly. Yet now, Amaraz was allowing him to speak to these foreign people, using his arcane strength to bend their minds to his eastern tongue. It was no great task for Amaraz, surely, yet he performed it the way he performed all his magics.

In secret.

‘Why?’ Lukien asked. ‘Why won’t you speak to me? Other Akari speak to their hosts. Why not you, Amaraz? Am I so unworthy?’

The silence seemed to confirm Lukien’s question.

‘Rot on you, then,’ he hissed. ‘You hear?’

If Amaraz heard, he refused to answer. As Lukien held the amulet before him, Jahan appeared from the house. He was all alone and smiling, and when he saw the Eye of God his almond eyes fixed on it curiously.

‘What is that?’ he asked. ‘I have seen you touching it.’

Jahan had been full of questions since they’d met, and so far Lukien had managed to dodge them all, at least the important ones. He didn’t like evading the man’s queries, but he still knew so little about Jahan and his people, and he supposed the truth might frighten them. He tucked the amulet back into his shirt.

‘Just a trinket. It was given to me by someone special.’

‘That is hardly a trinket, my friend. It is precious to you. Is it a magical thing?’

Lukien laughed at his deduction. ‘You see right through me, don’t you? All right — yes, then. But it’s hard to explain, and I’m not sure that I should. This amulet helps me.’ Lukien thought for a moment. ‘Jahan, when I talk to you, when we speak. . what is it like for you?’

‘It is strange,’ said Jahan. ‘Like I told you — your mouth moves, but the words are different. I do not understand how you do this thing.’ He pointed at the amulet beneath Lukien’s shirt. ‘Is that what the jeweled thing does?’

Lukien nodded. ‘I can’t speak your words, yet you understand me. And I understand you, too, and everyone else here in your village.’

‘Remarkable,’ Jahan said, wide-eyed. ‘Wherever you come from must be a glorious place. I want to know all about it, Lukien.’

‘I wish I had the time to tell you everything,’ said Lukien. ‘But I have to keep on going. I have to get to Torlis, Jahan. It’s important.’

It was obvious Jahan wanted to know more, but he was respectful to Lukien and asked no more questions. Instead, he said, ‘I am grateful to you for what you did for my son. You know that, yes?’

‘I know,’ said Lukien. ‘And I am grateful for your hospitality.’ Then he laughed. ‘And for the shirt!’

‘Lukien, you have made all the village start to wonder. When I tell them you are seeking the Red Eminence, they will not believe me! No one has ever gone that far from our village.’ A trace of wistfulness crept into Jahan’s tone. ‘They will envy you.’

‘Jahan, why are we out here? What did you want to show me?’

‘Ah, we are not without our own wonders here, Lukien. There is something you are ignorant of. Tonight you will learn.’

‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that. Where are we going?’

The man with the pony-tail slapped Lukien’s back. ‘To the river,’ he pronounced. ‘Follow me.’

With only the moonlight to guide them, Jahan led Lukien out of the village, following the river bank westward. Lukien had seen the lush farmlands here earlier, when the sun lit the place, making it clearly visible from the village. Now, it glowed murkily on the moonlight, damp in places where the river had over-flowed its banks and shadowed by tall grasses that hissed when the wind blew. Lukien held out his hands and let the grasses tickle his palms. Behind them, the village disappeared beyond a hill. Jahan walked like a ghost, barely making a sound. He began to crouch a little, bidding Lukien to do the same. They were still near the river and could hear its gargling churn. The moonlight glistened on the water.

‘How far are we going?’ Lukien whispered.

Jahan pointed to an area of flattened grass up ahead. ‘There.’

It looked like the kind of place where children played, where their eager feet had trampled the grass again and again until the grass at last surrendered. The ground was soft, though mostly dry, slightly elevated and affording a good view of the nearby river. Jahan knelt down in the clearing. He gestured for Lukien to come down next to him.

‘What are we doing?’ asked Lukien as he knelt beside Jahan.

The village man’s voice was barely audible. ‘Wait.’

‘Wait? For what?’

‘Lay down,’ said Jahan. ‘Like this.’

Jahan got down on his stomach, resting his elbows in the grass and his chin in his palms. Not knowing why, Lukien did the same, discovering that he still had an excellent little window through the grass in which to view the river bank.

‘I’m going to show you something wondrous, Lukien,’ Jahan promised. ‘But we must stay very quiet. Do not move. If you must talk, whisper.’

Lukien nodded, though the position was uncomfortable and made his wounded arm ache. He remained completely silent, barely twitching, letting long minutes pass, wondering what he might see. Insects buzzed in the grass around them. An occasional bird took wing overhead. Jahan waited with endless patience, grinning secretly. By the time Lukien’s own patience began to ebb, the villager finally spoke.

‘Look there!’

He pointed a thin finger out for Lukien to follow, toward the river bank where a shadow slipped slowly into view. Lukien struggled to focus his vision. He saw the movement, yet heard nothing. He inched his head closer through the grass, then detected the flash of eyes and the quick lash of tongue. A great hood patterned with coils lifted slightly into the air. Lukien stopped breathing.

‘Holy mother of fate,’ he gasped. ‘That’s a rass.’

His first instinct was to flee, but Jahan grabbed his hand, holding it tight.

‘Don’t move,’ Jahan ordered. ‘It won’t hurt us if it’s not afraid.’

‘I’m the one that’s afraid, Jahan,’ Lukien snapped. ‘We have to go.’

‘Fool, this is why I brought you here! Now hush yourself. Just watch.’

Lukien tried to steady himself, but could hear his own heart pounding in his temples. He had never felt such revulsion before, so helpless as he laid prone in the grass. Next to him, Jahan licked his lips in excitement, his eyes full of wonder. The rass dipped its giant head into the river and began to drink, using its enormous tongue — muscled like a man’s arm — to slurp the water. As if all the other creatures in the world knew that a monster was around them, the river bank fell silent. The birds ceased to stir. The insects stopped their buzzing song.

‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ Jahan eased back, finally sitting upright. ‘It knows we’re here.’

‘Then we should leave.’

‘You do not understand, Lukien. It will not harm us. It has only come to drink. The rass come every night to drink from the river.’

‘This is what you wanted to show me?’ asked Lukien. ‘Why?’

‘To make you understand. You cannot go through our lands without understanding the rass. What would the Red Eminence think of you? No, you must see the truth of them, how glorious they are.’

‘Jahan, they are not glorious to me,’ said Lukien. ‘Where I come from, the rass are dangerous.’

‘Dangerous?’ said Jahan. ‘Yes, of course. But that is their nature. They are hunters.’

Lukien sank down in the grass, studying the rass. The creature was immense, yet moved with grace along the river bank, deliberately slithering through the mud, its colourful skin glistening. ‘All right,’ Lukien admitted. ‘It is beautiful. But dangerous. Why don’t the rass attack your village?’

‘The rass come to the river at night,’ Jahan explained. ‘We light the torches to keep them away.’

‘Ah, you mean that smell?’

‘That’s right. There is a tree that grows nearby. When the leaves are dried and burned, they make a scent that keep the rass away.’

‘So you fear them. Yet you love them?’

‘It is the balance. Seeing the rass means that the Great Rass will come. Do you see?’

‘I think so,’ said Lukien, trying to understand. It made at least some sense. ‘So the Red Eminence kills the Great Rass, and the land lives on.’

Jahan smiled, pleased with his pupil. ‘Precisely so.’

‘And when you see the rass, you know that the Great Rass will come and be killed.’

‘Good.’

‘I understand. But I still don’t like them.’

Jahan sighed. ‘You are hopeless.’

Together they continued to watch as the rass made its way along the bank, pausing occasionally before disappearing into the darkness. Jahan remained transfixed by the creature until the end, when at last he leaned back, his expression oddly satisfied. Lukien relaxed, glad to be rid of the beast. Tharlara might be the land of serpents, but that didn’t mean he had to court them.

‘Thank you, Jahan,’ he said, not sure what else to say. ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe they are special. They’re special to you, at least.’

‘They are sacred creatures, Lukien. You must respect that when you go to Torlis.’

‘I’ll try,’ said Lukien. He got up from his knees, stretching his aching muscles. ‘Can we go back now?’

Jahan looked disappointed. ‘There will be others, but I suppose you do not care to see them. Yes, we can go back now, Lukien.’

The two men began the long walk back to the village. As they walked, Lukien spied the grasses warily. He felt safe with Jahan, though, and liked the village man’s company. In the brief time he had spent with Jahan, he had learned a great deal. Finally, when they left the tall grasses and the village came into sight, Jahan stopped.

‘Lukien,’ he said, ‘will you tell me now what you’re looking for in Torlis?’

Lukien thought for a moment. ‘Yes, Jahan, all right. A sword. I’m looking for a sword.’

Jahan considered the statement. ‘This must be a very special sword. And you must have it?’

‘Yes,’ Lukien nodded. ‘I must.’

‘Then you cannot take the chance of failing.’ The man’s expression grew pensive. ‘You have given me much today, Lukien. You have told me about the world beyond my village. You have saved my son. But what you’re doing now. .’ Jahan grimaced. ‘Dangerous.’

‘I know. It’s been a long journey for me already,’ Lukien said wearily. ‘But I have to go on. This sword is very important to me. If I don’t find it, many will die. Friends.’

‘I do not think you can find the way to Torlis on your own, Lukien. You do not even know that the rass are sacred! You need help on your journey.’ Jahan folded his arms across his wide chest. ‘I will come with you.’

‘What? Jahan, no.’

‘Yes,’ Jahan insisted. ‘It is my duty. You saved Naji from the hooth. If not for you, I would have been grieving tonight instead of learning from a new friend. I will go with you, Lukien. I will help you find this sword.’

The offer was more than generous — it was genuine. Lukien put his hand on Jahan’s shoulder. ‘You are the founder of this village, Jahan. I can’t take you away from it. You’re needed here.’

‘You need me more,’ said Jahan. ‘When we have quested and found the sword, the village will still be here, and all its troubles, too. Remember, Lukien, the village is the people. All the people. They are strong. They do not need me the way you do.’

‘Jahan, I saved your son because it was the right thing to do, and if it wasn’t for me the other children wouldn’t have been distracted. I’m just as much to blame for what almost happened as I am for saving Naji. There’s nothing you need to repay.’

Jahan’s face became stormy. ‘Perhaps where you come from, men are different,’ he said ‘But the Simiheh know when a debt is owed. I cannot let you go to Torlis alone. I cannot, and that is the end of it. Now, we will go to the village and sleep, and tomorrow we will leave for Torlis.’ Jahan took Lukien’s hand and held it firm. ‘Together.’

Seeing his argument lost, Lukien did not pull away from Jahan’s grasp. ‘All right,’ he agreed. ‘Come with me.’

Jahan beamed. ‘Good.’

They walked back to the village together, and when they were almost at Jahan’s house Lukien paused.

‘I think you’ll be a very good guide, Jahan,’ he said. ‘One thing, though — you’ve never been to Torlis, either.’

Jahan shrugged. ‘Better for two men to be lost than one, yes?’

Lukien frowned. ‘That makes no sense at all.’

Ignoring the jibe, Jahan headed eagerly for his little house. Completely unsure he had made the right choice, Lukien followed his odd new friend inside.