Roads of the Righteous and the Rotten (Order of Fire Book 1) (17 page)

18

Zar’s feet slipped acr
oss the bluff
. His body drifted down as he grabbed for the stone wall and tried to find a place for his hands. The ledge crumbled away moments after he grabbed it. The hill was too steep to stay on his feet, and he shifted to his hands and knees for balance. He didn’t care to follow the stones that had rolled down the mount moments ago, disappearing into the canyon.
Slow and steady, think b
efore you move.

Zar wiped the sweat from his face and started back up the pass. He slipped again, and scrambled to catch hold of a ledge while rocks scampered into the darkness below. The high cliffs cast their shadow upon the canyon, and every time Zar saw rocks or broken pieces of cliff fall down into that black pit, he was reminded that with one slip he too would disappear.

Asha sat a good distance behind, waiting for Zar to first find the way. Zar had discovered years ago that she was an excellent climber. She never lost her balance, and even though she was larger, he had found that if the path was big enough for him, it was big enough for her as well.

Zar leaned against the rocky slope. He had his footing, but the trail was treacherous. As soon as he believed to have found solid ground the rocks would give way, causing them to slide a few paces back down. It was not a path, but a gauntlet, a deceitful arrangement of stones where some could be used for support while others would crumble or roll out if you placed any weight on them. And they all looked the same. Zar carefully led Asha through, leaning toward the wall on the right, and all the while keeping his eyes from the cliff on the left. He need not look that way at all, not straight across into the open air, neither down into the canyon that waited there long and deep, welcoming any careless travelers who might lose their footing.

The path to Or was always a trial, and it was always different. He had climbed it countless times and he never went the same way twice. Each time he entered from a different way, for new paths opened up where others had closed from a group of rocks sliding or a portion of cliff breaking off and rolling down the mount. The pass itself was a puzzle, and was almost as mystifying as the inhabitants who lived in the caverns above it.

The pass began to level, and coming over the hill Zar the rock face, several dark openings arrayed around one large breach in the center. That was the cave, sunless and gaping. He had come to Or, a place that seemed like its own world—a world that wasn’t a part of the world.

Continuing down the trail he came to the large cave and could see the dancing of torch light within. A young maiden sat by the entrance and he held up his hand to greet her. The young woman bowed her head. Zar knew that Ramla expected him, and as always, she had sent one of her maidens to greet him upon his arrival.

He stepped into the cavern, leaving Asha seated calmly outside its mouth. Torches were mounted on the walls and provided even lighting, and Zar stopped once inside, as he always did, and looked forward at the wide corridor that ran back and at the tunnels that stemmed from it in the distance. It was a vacant place except for the snakes, the bones, and of course the maidens of Or—the servants of Ramla who occupied the cavern, kept up the place, and assisted her in any witchery she might attempt. Zar often found that walking through the place was an adventure in itself, for the maidens were curious creatures who never spoke, but simply stared at him in awe as if they had seen no other life beyond the caverns. They basked in the warmth of the cavern, walking in groups with not one garment among them. A most peculiar feeling of lechery took Zar as the torchlight brought to his eyes the sight of their bare flesh, for he could never quite tell if the things he saw there were glorious to behold or wicked.

He made his way through the main corridor and deep the hall until he came to a smaller tunnel at one of the back corners of the corridor. It was dark for a while until the tunnel opened back up into a large passage. The torchlight shone once again as it did before in the main corridor, and the passage opened into a large room—the den of his dear friend, Ramla. Scattered across the floor were all manner of human and animal bones, shells and beads, knives, ceremonial instruments, and fire pits decorated with stones and oracle bones. And there she was in the midst of it all.

Her back was turned and she leaned over a fire. Zar stood silent, watching his old friend. She was short and thin, beautiful and unnerving, her skin as dark as coal. Snakes wrapped their coils around her neck, arms, and legs. Every time he saw her she looked a little less like the girl he had befriended years ago, and more like something he didn’t recognize or want to consider.

“Zar, my sweet, you’ve returned to me!” Ramla beamed and pounced on Zar, hugging him and kissing his cheek. “You look well.”

“Aye,” Zar responded and embraced her, but released quickly after feeling serpent scales against his skin.

“And you are dazzling as ever.”

“Don’t be afraid of them,” said Ramla, smiling. “They are friends.”

“Friends of yours or friends of mine?” Zar bantered.

Ramla giggled. “Any friend of mine is a friend of yours. I’ve missed you, Zar. What’s kept you from me?”

“How about the maze of cliffs that surrounds this place?”

her voice sounding as calm, cool, and eerie as a howling sea wind.

“Ramla, I’ve mocked the king at his gates, killed his men, and wounded his son, Prince Tharid. I’m sure they have gold on my head. I plan to leave Krii for some time, but I need to know how much trouble I am truly in.”

Ramla giggled in delight and looked at Zar like he was a hero. “I see you’re still not ready to die.”

“Not yet. I’ve had many adventures and wish to have many more.”

“And gold?”

“I certainly wish to have more of that.”

Ramla eyed Zar with a grin and bit her bottom lip.

“And me?”

Zar smirked, and pointed to the snakes that entangled her neck and limbs. “If it weren’t for
them
I’d have you right now.”

Ramla smiled back. “You talk much of having.”

“Well, there’s much to be had,” Zar replied.

Ramla licked her lips. “I told you not to fear the snakes.”

“I fear nothing,” Zar boasted.

“You fear for your life,” said Ramla. “That’s why you’ve come. Curious, you’ve never feared for it before.”

“What kind of trouble am I in?”

“Come.” Ramla beckoned as she took a seat near the fire, scooping up pieces of oracle bones that littered the ground. “I will spread the bones.”

“I’ll wait in the hall outside—”

sincere, and pleading all in one.

Zar did not move.

The woman’s voice grew light and raspy as she hissed in an unknown tongue, shaking the bones in both her hands while looking up at the roof of the cave’s den. Ramla grew louder and the pitch of her voice rose to a shrill that stung Zar’s ears and left in his mind an obscure and malign feeling. He turned his head from her and she soon fell quiet. The bones rattled against the hard surface of the cavern’s floor. He looked back to his friend.

Ramla looked at him with wide eyes. “Leave and live, stay and die! The apostates have been summoned!”

Zar sat himself down across from her. “The three apostates? I’ve heard of them in rumors.”

“As you hear of Leviathan and the land across the sea.

Yet they do exist, as do the apostates.”

“Who are they exactly?” Zar questioned. “Why are they called apostates?”

“They were once of the clan of the Condor, the cliff folk, but they abandoned their faith to become men of the world.”

“Abandoned their faith,” said Zar, “their belief that the mainreach is theirs by right?”

“Aye,” replied Ramla. “Of all the secret clans of the cliff people the Condor are by far the most secretive. It has been their plan for years—”

“To reclaim the mainreach,” Zar finished.

Ramla nodded in agreement. “To take back the land that was rightfully theirs before the Great War.”

Zar smiled and shook his head. “We learn these mythic histories as children, though I don’t know many who actually believe them. Most I know say the Condor are long gone, but I don’t think that’s the case.”

“Either they are gone,” said Ramla with a nod, “or they thrive in secret, but they are not the ones you need to concern yourself with. It is the three apostates who will end your life if you stay here.”

“Am I so easy to kill, now?”

“Your sword is the best I’ve ever seen, but these men are demons.”

“They are men,” Zar retorted, “that shit and weep and bleed like any other.”

“Do as you said you would and leave this land,” said Ramla, her tone sounding unusually urgent.

“I would leave because I’d be a wanted man by the king, not to run away from three men.”

“The bones have showed me your death!” Ramla called. “If you stay and fight them alone, you will die.”

“Is that certainly so?”

“Do not joke. I’d never forgive you if you left me in this world alone. Not only has he hired the apostates, but Tiomot has also promised five-hundred pieces of gold to the man who brings in your head. You will find no peace here, Zar. Leave until the storm has calmed.”

“I will go,” said Zar, “but since you’ve made me curious, tell me of the three apostates, for I wouldn’t know them if they stood before me.”

“The Butcher, the Hunter, and the Ghost, they are called.” Ramla closed her eyes as she spoke the words, as if trying to recall a distant memory. “The Butcher is a giant brute of a man, taller than two men together, fatter than the baker’s son. He carries a sword as big as you. He is the savage of the three, not caring for stealth, or if he’s noticed or not.”

“The Butcher…” Zar reflected.

“The Hunter is a master of the bow,” Ramla continued, “a man of the woods. You won’t find him in towns or cities. He spends his time tracking and hunting, animals at times men at others. The least is known about this one, though I cannot say why. There is something
different
about him, different than the other two.” Ramla’s brow furrowed as her closed eyes squinted, looking like she was trying to pull one detail from a medley of thoughts.

“Well, I hope I won’t have to find out.”

“The Ghost is a shadow of a man, always cloaked, rarely seen. He is everyone and no one, a drifter that kills with knives. He could kill you in the middle of a crowd and not one person would see the act.”

“They sound like accounts from a fairy book.”

“Do they, now?” said Ramla, opening her large, black eyes and showing Zar a smile. “And what might be said about you, Zar, if one were to give your description?”

Zar chuckled at her words. “You spoke of the Condor,”

said Zar after a while. “I think I met one today.”

“Did he ride a ram?”

“Aye, and he spoke of serving a queen, though admitted he wasn’t loyal to Snowstone.”

“So it’s not Queen Thae he serves,” said Ramla, looking curious.

“No, and there are no other queens here in the mainreach—except among the cliff folk.”

“Aye, only the hill clans serve queens. But how do you know he was Condor, and not another hill clan?”

“Because he was far too secretive. If he was of one of the regular hill clans he would’ve had no problem telling me so. But the fact that he
couldn’t
tell me…”

“…Means he had something to hide,” stated Ramla. “Always the sharp one—my Zar.”

“Something big will happen soon.”

“You feel it as well?” said Ramla, excitedly.

“Aye. The Condor I met—the strangest fellow he was—said his woman was in Snowstone Castle. He said he couldn’t be with her because of his queen. The man was troubled.”

“What did he mean?”

“Not certain, exactly,” said Zar, “but the Condor are mixed up in it—mixed up with Snowstone. I wonder if the rumors are true, if the Condor are making their move to reclaim the mainreach.”

“I can try to find out,” said Ramla, her eyes lighting up. “I can spread the bones again, I still have the energy—”

“No more bones,” Zar cut in, almost shouting the words and shaking his head at the same time.

“Very well,” Ramla responded, her smile fading out. “No more bones.”

The two sat quietly for a while, but before long Ramla lifted the serpents’ coils from her body and let the creatures slither off into the shadows.

“The snakes are gone,” she said, smiling, as she crawled on top of Zar.

After a time with Ramla that seemed like hours, though Zar knew it simply couldn’t have been that long, Ramla jumped up, grabbed Zar’s arm and pulled eagerly until he followed her. “Come,” she insisted, “I would show you something.”

Zar didn’t want to get up, not only because they had just finished working at each other most vigorously and he simply wanted to lie back, but because he was altogether nervous about what Ramla had to show him. Her smile and the way her eyes gleamed, the way her feet shuffled gingerly, pulling his arm like a child leading a friend or parent to something new that brought them joy made Zar wish what Ramla planned to show him was just as innocuous. He knew it wouldn’t be.

She led him to a fairly small room off a narrow corridor that stemmed from her den—a room he hadn’t been in before. There was a log structure built there, three legs that supported a pole rising straight up into the air. When Zar noticed there was a body tied to it his feet slowed, and Ramla had to tug his arm to get him to keep following her up to it. It was one of the maidens, lashed to the pole, head looking up to the ceiling with open but unblinking eyes. The woman was breathing heavily, and a heavy smile weighed on her lips.

“What is this?” Zar asked, annoyed that Ramla had brought him there.

“She is my vessel,” Ramla answered, scooting to the nearby wall and pulling a torch from the sconce. “Everything you just did to me, you did to her.”

Zar didn’t want to ask, but he did anyway. “How?”

“The Art of Vessels,” Ramla said proudly. “What’s done to me is done to her. No, what’s done to me is manifest
through
her.” Ramla waved the torch in front of the bare body and moved the fire down to shine between the woman’s legs. Zar marveled at the mess between the maiden’s thighs and the wetness running down, and Ramla spoke again. “You’ve quite satisfied her.”