Dark of the Sun (20 page)

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Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Horror, #Vampires, #Transylvania (Romania), #Krakatoa (Indonesia), #Volcanic Eruptions

BOOK: Dark of the Sun
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“Then perhaps you
do
understand,” she said. “I would like to hear what your priests taught you. It makes a change from what Apostle Lazarus and I usually discuss.”
Apostle Lazarus leaned back in his chair. “Yes, Zangi-Ragozh. I am most curious. My father told me about your skills as an alchemist but nothing of your having been a priest.”
“From priest to alchemist to merchant,” said Dukkai. “It must be a most fascinating journey.”
“That is not a word I would have chosen,” said Zangi-Ragozh, meeting Dukkai’s ice-blue eyes with his blue-black ones.
“No; those living a life do not usually see the remarkableness of it,” said Dukkai. “They leave that to magicians, and story-tellers.”
“How can you say such things?” Apostle Lazarus exclaimed. “The lives and writings of holy men are examples, not tales to entertain.” He grinned, ready for lively conversation.
“It may be so,” said Dukkai, “but the tales of the gods are often as much adventure as instruction, so that people may understand the nature of the gods’ powers.”
“Of your gods, perhaps,” the Apostle countered.
“Of all gods,” said Dukkai firmly. “As well they should be, so that people will want to remember them.”
The Apostle made a humorous groan. “This is going to be a long day,” he said merrily.
“At least until Baru Ksoka arrives,” said Dukkai. “Then there will be things we must do.”
“I will keep that in mind,” said Apostle Lazarus.
Zangi-Ragozh sat back and listened to the Apostle and Dukkai match wits while the shadows on the walls grew dim as heavy clouds covered the wan sun.
 
Text of a letter from Eclipse Trading Company senior clerk Hu Bi-Da to Councillor Ko She-Hsieh, both at Yang-Chau.
 
To the most excellent Councillor Ko She-Hsieh, the senior clerk of the Eclipse Trading Company, Hu Bi-Da, sends this requested report and provides the justly deserving Councillor with the information he has asked be included, on this, the first day of the Fortnight of the White Dew.
This person regrets to inform the Councillor that there has as yet been no further word from Zangi-Ragozh, the illustrious foreigner who is the owner of the Eclipse Trading Company, and who has been gone from Yang-Chau for fifteen fortnights. As the Councillor is aware, the company is well-funded and the instructions left by the illustrious foreigner Zangi-Ragozh provided for the continuing trading of the company, as well as guaranteeing the paying of duties and taxes. Should word come at any time, this person will immediately inform the Councillor of that fact and apprize him of as much information as is to be had. The messenger from Dong-Lin provided proof that Zangi-Ragozh passed through the town, paid the required duties, and went on, which at present is the sum this person knows of his employer’s activities.
I Mo-Ching, Captain of the Morning Star, has at last returned to port. His ship is somewhat damaged but not beyond repair. He has brought a cargo that is generally satisfactory, and the goods will be released for sale as soon as the customs officials decide on what duty to charge. I Mo-Ching himself is preparing a report for the Council regarding what he has observed on his voyage, the kind of damage he has seen, the aftermath of such damage, and his assessment on he impact of this on trade. This person urges you to give his account the utmost attention, for he will not lead you astray nor expect you to embrace tales of fanciful events.
This person has provided a copy of the accounts of Eclipse Trading Company for the last twelve fortnights for your review. This person vouches for the accuracy of the records kept and, on pain of legal action, declares they are complete and veracious in all details and particulars. This person adds that the loss of the
Bird of the Waves
and
The Shining Pearl
are listed separately for the value of the cargoes of these lost ships can only be estimated, and so this person has based his assessment on previous cargoes of these ships. In addition to the two lost ships, word has arrived that the
Phoenix
has been badly damaged and most be extensively repaired before it may safely sail to Yang-Chau. This person has arranged for funds to be transferred to cover such repairs and, further, has been advised that the Captain is dead of fever and will have to be replaced. Should the Council authorize it, this person will hire a new Captain to carry the money for repairs to the
Phoenix
and assume command of her reconstruction as well as her voyage home. However, this person will not ask many Captain to take to sea after the Fortnight of the Frost Kings, when darkness and bad weather make navigation hazardous in good times. Given what has happened in the last twelve fortnights, this person cannot in good conscience send any ship to sea, for great waves might still strike out of nowhere, and ferocious winds drive all ahead of them, sending ships to destruction. If this person is erring in these decisions, he asks that the Councillor remember that Zangi-Ragozh entrusted his business. to my care, and this person is bound to use caution in difficulty circumstances, which these surely are. If, upon his return, Zangi-Ragozh should choose to chastise or penalize this person for his decisions, then this person will accept what is meted out to him as the right of his employer. Otherwise this person will continue to uphold his position in the Eclipse Trading Company in as prudent a manner possible.
Submitted with the inclusion already mentioned, with the abiding respect and regard of
 
Hu Bi-Da
Senior Clerk, Eclipse Trading
Company
(his chop)
 
“What do they call you in the West?—certainly not Zangi-Ragozh,” said Dukkai as she stood in the alchemical chamber a week after the foreigner had arrived in Kumul. “That must be what the Chinese call you.”
“It is,” said Zangi-Ragozh, looking up from the crock of moldy bread that stood on one end of the long table. He had donned his black silk sen-hsien and put his black shearling shuba over it, for the day was cold and the fire in the distant stove made little headway against the chill.
“What was the name you were given?” She cocked her head. “If you may tell me without offending your gods.”
“My gods are long-forgotten by everyone but me,” said Zangi-Ragozh with a wry, sad smile.
“Then why do you hesitate? I know you are hesitating.” Dukkai moved out of the glare of brassy early-morning sunlight so that she could see Zangi-Ragozh more clearly.
“Yes, I am,” he admitted, fiddling with the lid of the crock.
“Why? Is it because I am not of your clan?” She obviously regarded that as a good reason to keep such information private.
“No, that is not the reason,” he told her. “I am not accustomed to revealing so much.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “But we will leave shortly, and then you will, as well, and even if we share the road for a fortnight or a year, once we part we may never meet again, so where would be the harm? Whom would I tell that could hurt you, or would even know who you are?” She paced down the center of the room and came back to him.
“Why does it matter to you so much?” Zangi-Ragozh asked her, puzzled by her persistence.
“It is a matter of trust and respect,” she said after a reflective pause.
“That it is,” he agreed.
“You have imparted much information to me, and to the Apostle, willingly and graciously, but you withhold this most intrinsic part of yourself, as if you seek to remain a stranger,” she said. “I am glad for the knowledge you are willing to share, but I know it has little importance to you. So I ask for a token of your respect, something that you esteem, to seal our friendship.”
“I have given you an emerald,” said Zangi-Ragozh; it had been among the first batch he had made four days ago. “You said it was a pledge of mutual friendship.”
“It is a beautiful stone, and a great treasure, but it is from you, not of you,” she said.
“I grant you that,” said Zangi-Ragozh, beginning to chafe; the first cordiality between them was already changing to something more profound, and more complex.
“You have been about the world a great deal—far more than I or anyone I know has been or ever will be. You have seen places whose names I have never heard, and you have walked roads leading beyond everything I have dreamed of,” she said. “Your homeland is far away, you tell me, and your people no longer live there. For their sake, let me know who you were to them so they will not be completely gone.”
“They are gone,” he said flatly. “Many, many years ago.”
“So you have told me,” she said. “It must make you very lonely, to be the last.”
“Upon occasion,” he said, resisting the rare pang of isolation that gripped him suddenly.
“Because I am a magician,” she said. “I have ways to ease the bonds that all carry.”
“For your people. I am a foreigner, and your magic may not be mine, or accessible to one of my blood, no matter how generous your offer.” He studied her broad, angular features, hoping to see an answer there that was as much a part of her answer as anything she might say.
“All the more reason to tell me,” she persisted. “It strengthens my magic without upsetting my clan.”
“How does it do this?” He fixed the lid on the crock.
“It gives me access to the heart of your being, and that provides illumination of an unearthly kind. I would cherish your name as I will treasure your emerald.” She held out her hands to him.
Zangi-Ragozh relented. “My father was called Ragosh, so I am Ragosh-ski, my … I suppose you would call it clan, or territory, name is Franzic, for the area where my father’s kingdom lay; my personal name is Holy Jermen,” he said, slurring the
j
a little. He was a bit surprised at himself for telling her so much.
“How complicated,” she said. “Are all men of the West so encumbered with names?”
“Some are more complicated, most are less so,” he said, glancing at the door.
“Why are you called Holy? Is that your name or a title? Are you an Apostle, too?” She took his hands in hers, drawing him closer to her.
“No. I was called Holy because I was given to my gods.”
“Your forgotten gods?” Her fingers tightened before she released his hands.
“Yes. Those sons of the King born at the dark of the year, as I was, were given to the gods, to become one of their blood, and for that blood were called Holy.” He felt some of his despondency lift as he said this, and it surprised him. “Is Dukkai all your name?”
“As a name goes, it is Dukkai of the Desert Cats Clan, daughter of Gobor the One-Eyed, and niece of the magician Tejamksa, who served the clan and taught me.”
“Why is he called Gobor the One-Eyed?” Zangi-Ragozh asked, considering what he had heard.
“He is called that because he is dead and there are many Gobors who have died. When I am dead, I will be Dukkai the Magician.” She watched him inquisitively. “Do not your people distinguish the dead?”
“Not in that way,” he said, and continued, “Baru Ksoka has two names: is it because he is your leader?”
“No. It is because he is his father’s oldest son to have a child of his own. All those who are oldest sons who have a first child have second names. If the son with the name dies before he has a first grandson who is the first in the family, the second name passes to his widow.” She saw his continuing interest. “Because I am the clan’s magician, I have a number of titles, but they are not names, and they are only used on sacred occasions.” She took one of the chairs, slid it away from the wall, and dropped into it, shifting about on the wooden seat to make herself more comfortable.
He moved the crock toward a large urn, one that would go into the athanor, the beehive-shaped alchemical oven standing at the far end of the chamber. “This will be a sovereign remedy when it is done. I will prepare other things tomorrow.”
“More jewels?” She folded her hands in her lap.
“Gold and silver,” said Zangi-Ragozh.
“Can you make food instead?”
“Sadly, no, I cannot make food.” It was a troubling confession, and he gazed at the athanor to avoid her pale eyes.
“That is a pity,” she said, preparing to rise, but sinking down once more as Zangi-Ragozh gave her his full attention. “I have already informed Baru Ksoka that we will have difficulty in reaching Cambaluc this autumn, although we often travel there. All the signs are bad.” She watched him, curious and wary.
“That is a goodly distance out of the usual Jou’an-Jou’an territory, I would have thought,” he said, remembering the village that was more of a permanent caravan encampment on the northern branch of the Silk Road.
“For many clans it is, but ours is a small group, much smaller than most, and we have to travel more and farther in order to keep from battles for pasture with the larger clans. Especially now, when the Turks are restless and pasturage is scarce.” She let him consider what she had said.
Zangi-Ragozh contemplated her face. “What area do you travel, then?”
“We keep to the region between the rest of the Jou’an-Jou’an and the Uighurs, following the Tarim River.”
“Are you expecting more trouble?” He knew it was a foolish question.
“I am, as you would, were you in my place.” She studied him, saying suddenly, “I am pregnant with Baru Ksoka’s child. I will give birth in the spring, if there is a spring.”
“You are sure you are pregnant?” He chose his words meticulously. “Sometimes, when there are great hardships, a woman may not have her monthly courses. Could this be happening to you?”
“It could, but it is not,” she said with great conviction. “Only the Kaigan is allowed to rut with me, and he has done so for more than a year. It is time that I bear him a child.”
He turned and regarded her somberly. “Does he know, then?”
“Certainly he knows,” she said. “He is the leader of the clan. He must be told such things.”
“This is a hard time to have children,” he said circumspectly.
“There is never an easy time to have children, not even for animals,” she said bluntly. “Yet it must be done.”
“While I do not disagree,” he said, “I suppose that this coming year is going to be much harder than the last, and that the risks of pregnancy will increase as time goes by.”
“Because there will be famine. I have contemplated what is to come, and it fills me with apprehension,” she said, and caught her lower lip in her teeth.
“As it would any sensible woman,” he said as a rush of compassion came over him. “You are afraid you will not carry the child to term.”
“And if I do, that it will fail to grow and flourish. Weak infants are exposed, and if my child is not hearty, it will be left for the wild creatures to live upon. Baru Ksoka would declare as Kaigan that weak infants are not likely to live long and thus not only strengthen the clan but are spared suffering through their quick deaths, and I know this is the right way, so that the child remains part of the clan, just as the foals we offer to the gods and the cats become the spirit of our clan, and a source of power for the living.” This last was spoken as if it meant nothing to her.
“With this year being so difficult, do you suppose there will be more offerings to your gods and your cats?” Zangi-Ragozh felt an abiding sympathy for her, but held his expression in check, for he sensed she had no wish to give in to her anxiety.
“There have been more foals and kids offered. Soon it must be infants, because horses and goats have proved insufficient.” She made a mess of a chuckle. “Perhaps Apostle Lazarus could appeal to his God for another son to come to help us; after so long a time, a new sacrifice may be needed.”
“He might well consider such a suggestion blasphemy,” said Zangi-Ragozh.
“Most certainly,” she agreed. “But in our many discussions, I have said much the same, and worse, and he does not chide me for it.”
“Circumstances may change his mind,” Zangi-Ragozh warned her.
“It may do more than that; already some of our clan pray to Apostle Lazarus’ God.”
“Why have you told me this?” Zangi-Ragozh asked her, coming toward her as she huddled in the chair. “What do you want of me?”
“I do not know what it is I seek,” she said, continuing more tentatively. “I think perhaps I was hoping you might consider traveling with the clan until I deliver. We should have gone a long way westward by that time, and you are bound in that direction. My magic cannot protect me from the rigors of childbirth, or from anything else, for it has no impact upon me, only on others. But you might have skills that will be able to provide defenses for me.”
“Are you having any difficulties?” Zangi-Ragozh put his hand on her forehead, concentrating on what he felt. “No sign of fever; that’s something.”
“No, no difficulties in particular. This is my first child, and I am worried because I am so old. Most Jou’an-Jou’an women have their first babies by their sixteenth year, and I am nine years older than that, which makes things harder for me than many.” She looked up at him. “How will I—”
“Have you been ill at all? Is your appetite good?”
“I have been tired,” she said. “I am always hungry. But all of us must have less just now.”
“That could be hard on your child,” said Zangi-Ragozh as gently as he could as he lowered his hand and scrutinized her face.
“Would the child starve, do you think?” Her face was impassive but her eyes burned.
“It is possible. I have seen it happen,” he said, thinking back to the nine severe famines he had seen in his centuries in the Temple of Imhotep in Egypt.
“Is it likely?”
“That is hard to tell, at least at this point.” He considered her in silence for a short while.
“If you and your companion were to travel with us, would you treat me? I am troubled by what I have experienced with this infant—so different than what I have seen other women endure. Apostle Lazarus says you have helped pregnant women before. Would you try to preserve my child?” She was so forlorn that Zangi-Ragozh was almost overwhelmed by her distress.
“What would your Kaigan say?” He waited while she framed her reply.
“I am the magician of the clan. He will do as I say, particularly for the sake of his child.” She folded her arms and stared at him. “Travel with us, foreigner, and help us.”
Zangi-Ragozh shook his head. “Your clan will have a hard time in any case: might not some of your people resent two strangers in your midst?”

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