The Godspeaker Trilogy (10 page)

Yagji chewed his lip, glancing ahead at the walking godspeakers. “I wonder if Raklion warlord knows Bajadek’s warriors ride freely in the lands of Et-Nogolor?” he asked, softly so they might not hear him. “I wonder—”

Abajai kicked him. “You wonder too much, Yagji! Hold your prattling tongue!”

Chastened to silence Yagji stared and stared, his eyes slowly filling with water. “I am sorry, Aba,” he whispered at last. “I am weary, I am homesick. I long for our villa in dear Et-Raklion.”

With a deep sigh, Abajai patted his cheek. “I know, Yagji. I am homesick too. I will be well pleased when this caravan is over. Do not weep, friend. We will be home soon.”

It took the godspeaker caravan thirty-seven highsuns to reach the lands of Raklion warlord. In that time they saw warriors of Et-Bajadek five more times. Abajai and Yagji said nothing about them, they closed their eyes and pretended not to see.

Hekat knew better than to speak on that.

When at last she saw Et-Raklion she knew then what a fat land truly looked like. So much water! Streams and lakes and rivers and bubbling springs, so much green grass, countless fruit-laden branches and fields of grain, fat grazing cattle and sheep, singing birds and well-fed wildlife. She understood that Abajai and Yagji were right, the rest of Mijak was turning brown.

She did not want to think what might happen when all the green was gone from the other warlords’ lands.

As they slowly journeyed, caged in their uncomfortable wagon, Abajai continued to teach her. He gave her all the words in his possession, so many words she thought they must fall from her mouth every time she opened it or blow out through her nose whenever she sneezed. He bade her use them to talk of her life in the savage north, the caravan they traveled with, each newsun sacrifice, the road, the sky, the clouds, the trees, the flowers, the fruit, the crops and the herds of beasts in their open pastures. The villages they passed by and the harmless travelers they encountered. Everything she could see and remember she could talk about, said Abajai, so she did, because that was his want.

It was her want too, she would be more than a village goat bleating and shitting and waiting for the knife.

Twenty-three highsuns after crossing the border into Et-Raklion she was asleep on the wagon’s hard jolting floor and dreaming again of the man’s bone-crunching dogs when Yagji’s finger poked her ribs and his voice said, crossly, “Lazy monkey! Open your eyes and look upon perfection! We have reached Et-Raklion city!”

The dogs’ slavering growls fading, she opened her eyes. The sky was dimming, only a finger remained till lowsun. She sat up, ignoring the creaks and moans in her muscles. Abajai walked beside the wagon, he never tired. Even though his face was quiet it seemed to her that it was shouting. His strong dark face and its scarlet scorpion, shouting with happiness to see the city.

She looked ahead, where he was looking. Where Yagji was looking, stupid wasted water rolling down his fat cheeks.

“Oh,” she said, and felt a silly pricky burning in her own eyes. Her heart heaved and twisted and split wide open, all the blood in her turning red hot.

Raklion warlord’s city was beautiful.

Unlike Et-Nogolor, squatting like half a melon on a plate and skulking in man-made shadows, the city Et-Raklion spread around the base of a towering hill, which rose resplendent from the green and growing plain as though the god’s own fist had punched upwards from beneath the earth’s skin. The road they traveled led straight to the city gatehouse, then into the city itself. Bright lamps and torches burned in myriad dwellings, their warm flames lighting pale cream rock, and blood-red rock, and rock as green as the fields of growing wheat. So many roofs in the city Et-Raklion, Hekat could not count them all. Trees, too, heavy-laden with blossoms. On the perfumed breeze a trilling of songbirds, and silver godbells calling down the night.

Seeing Et-Raklion city once, Hekat knew this wondrous place owned her. And she was content to be its possession, until the god closed her eyes and gave her bones to the hungry dark.

“Ah, Et-Raklion,” sighed Yagji, his voice quivering. “The god is good, that I see you again.”

Abajai’s stern face was gentle with smiling. “See Raklion’s Pinnacle, Hekat, gift of the god. There is the godhouse on its peak, and its godpost reaching for the world’s ceiling, its godmoon and its stars. It is the greatest godhouse in all of Mijak.” He pointed. “There below it, the warlord’s palace. And below the palace at the Pinnacle’s base, within strong walls, the barracks where his warriors live, guarding the warlord. Keeping everyone safe.”

She looked where he pointed, and marveled how the palace grew out of the hillside. Felt awe at the height and spread of the godhouse. Et-Raklion’s godhouse made the godhouse Et-Nogolor look small. Look nothing .

Truly the god loved the lands of Et-Raklion.

“The god, the warlord, his mighty warriors, like eagles they keep watch over the city.” Abajai crooked a finger. “Take off your sandals and walk with me, Hekat. Feel the rich cool soil of Et-Raklion beneath your feet.”

Willingly she walked with him, and so did Yagji, still sniveling. They walked right up to the gates of Et-Raklion, and as they walked Hekat felt herself smile.

Home, home , her heart sang softly. Here I am, god. I am home .

CHAPTER SIX

T
he caravan’s senior godspeaker joined them at the gates to Et-Raklion. Hekat felt her skin crawl but she did not give him ground. Showing fear was foolish.

The city Gatekeeper was a tall woman with muscles like a man and godbraids reaching below her knees. She had a blue lizard tattooed over her face; its eyes were her eyes, lazily blinking. She looked at the carved birds pinned to the senior godspeaker’s robes and nodded.

“Godspeaker of Et-Nogolor,” she said, hands lightly fisted on her leather-clad hips. Her earlobes stretched low with the dangling weight of many amulets. Her nose was pierced six times. The lizard’s tail caressed her chin, and the single pink jewel studded in it. “State your business in Raklion’s city.”

The senior godspeaker looked down his nose at the city Gatekeeper. “Our business is the god’s business, and the business of Et-Raklion’s high godspeaker Nagarak.”

The Gatekeeper snapped her fingers, and a small he-brat leapt out of the gatehouse’s shadows. “Make haste to the godhouse,” she told it. “Tell the first godspeaker you see that there are visitors from godhouse Et-Nogolor, craving Nagarak high godspeaker’s permission to enter.”

The brat pressed a fist to its brown woollen chest and darted up the roadway leading from the gatehouse into the city proper.

The Gatekeeper nodded at the godspeaker caravan. “Nagarak high godspeaker will see you in his time. Until then, godspeakers, you must wait.”

The godspeaker’s eyes narrowed. “It is not our custom to be kept waiting.”

“Alas,” said the Gatekeeper. “It is my custom to obey my warlord, and the decrees of Nagarak high godspeaker.”

Displeased but thwarted, the senior godspeaker of Et-Nogolor returned to his caravan, and the Gatekeeper turned her attention to Abajai. “Trader Abajai,” she said, her voice all warmth and smiling now. “Trader Yagji. Long has been your absence from us.”

“And many tales to tell,” replied Abajai. “We will sit over sadsa and I will tell them that you may laugh and wonder. We may pass in your good graces, Baruve Gatekeeper?”

Hekat stared, unflinching, as the Gatekeeper’s curious lizard eyes considered her. “In my good graces always, Trader Abajai,” the Gatekeeper said. “Do you require a litter? I can send a brat for one, if you like.”

“Thanks, but no litter,” said Abajai, before Yagji could speak. “To walk the streets of Et-Raklion after so long an absence is the god’s great gift.”

The Gatekeeper snapped her fingers a second time, and another brown-wool boy appeared. “Take this brat, Trader. It will light your way home.” There were many torches burning in the wall of the gatehouse. She tugged one free and thrust it at the he-brat. “Send it back when you are done with its service.”

As Yagji withdrew to fetch Obid, the other slave and their cart, Abajai took a purse from his robe pocket and gave it to the Gatekeeper. “A Trader’s thanks.”

She pocketed the purse, her tattooed blue lizard leaping as she smiled. “The god sees you, Trader. It likes to see a generous man.”

Yagji returned, their possessions at his heels. Abajai nodded at the Gatekeeper, put his fingers to Hekat’s elbow, and they followed the he-brat with its flaming torch through the wide gateway into the city.

“What does this mean, Aba?” Yagji whispered, as they stopped before the gateway godpost and its offering bowl, to gift the god with exquisite amulets and four fat purses of coin. “It is not like Nagarak to keep Et-Nogolor godspeakers waiting at the city gates. Do you think he knows—”

“ Tcha !” said Abajai, his voice a warning. “Not here, not now. Let us keep walking. You there, gate-brat—to the Traders district.”

The sun was gone now, the godmoon and his wife striding the night sky together. Obid and the other slave’s harsh breathing was loud in the hush as Hekat walked in silence between Abajai and Yagji. Flowering trees lined both edges of the smooth pavestones beneath their feet. Floating on the stirring night air, faint strains of music, of voices, and still the ringing of silver godbells. A teasing aroma of spicy meat.

“The Dining district dances,” said Yagji, sounding mournful. “We could stop and eat, Aba. Roast lamb, sweet wine. I pine for something other than godcakes and ale.”

“No,” said Abajai. “I want a private night within our own walls before venturing to visit with Trader friends, Yagji. There will be questions we have not decided how to answer.”

“But what if the villa has no food for us?” Yagji fretted. “That Retoth and the rest, the worthless slaves, they have likely eaten us out of all provisions.”

Abajai laughed. “Retoth knows better. He knows your belly when it returns from caravan. And he knows well to keep the villa in readiness for our sudden arrival.”

Hekat plucked at Abajai’s sleeve. “Who is Retoth?”

“Our villa’s chief slave. You will mind him, Hekat, for his word is my word,” said Abajai, looking down at her. “If you disobey him Yagji will have his wish to see you beaten.”

Yagji tchut-tchutted under his panting breath. “I should have had my wish many highsuns before now.”

“Save your air for walking,” said Abajai, kindly enough. “The Traders district is a distance yet.”

Yagji groaned. “You should have called for a litter, Aba. A fine thing if I fall to the ground with a spasm at my own doorstep after so many godmoons on the road!”

“After traveling so far on a camel and in wagons, a little walking will do you good!” said Abajai, lightly scolding. “And think how it will spice your appetite!”

“My appetite needs no spicing, Aba. The godcakes of Et-Nogolor are the worst I’ve ever tasted!”

For the first time since she and the fat Trader had met, Hekat thought that he was right.

“What amuses, Hekat?” said Abajai.

She would have liked to hold his hand, but that wasn’t a gesture for her to make. He must touch first, always. She smiled at him instead. “I am pleased to be here, Abajai. Et-Raklion is the city of cities.”

“Tchut!” said Yagji. “Can it be possible? For once the monkey speaks words worth hearing.”

Abajai just nodded, and kept on walking.

It took a long time to reach Abajai’s villa. Once they reached the city proper they saw other people in the streets, on foot or traveling in litters carried by strong tall slaves. Abajai and Yagji were recognized over and over; many times they were stopped and welcomed home with smiles and invitations to share food and wine and all the gossip.

“Let us take the discreet way home,” said Yagji at last. “Or we won’t see our bed before newsun, and I’m tired!”

So Abajai dismissed the gatehouse he-brat, because now the roads were lit with torches, and they walked along narrow side-streets into the heart of the Traders district, a section of the city almost halfway between its gatehouse and the base of Raklion’s Pinnacle.

The Traders district was peaceful, sweet-smelling. Every street was lined with dwellings, some with grass and trees and flowers between their closed doors and the cobbles, others hidden behind stone walls with doors built into them. Some of the houses had beautiful slaves by the doors. When they thought Hekat and Abajai and Yagji approached them they stood very tall, only to slump when she and Abajai and Yagji walked by, Obid and the other slave puffing behind them with the cart.

She wished she knew what they were for.

Abajai said, “Where there is a slave, Hekat, either the master is out and the slave will say so, or he is willing to see a visitor and the slave will give that visitor entrance.”

Aieee, he was like the god to read her mind so easily. “And if there is no slave, the master wishes to be alone?”

“Exactly so,” said Abajai. “No civilized person will argue with a slave, or attempt an unattended door. Such an arrangement prevents unpleasantness.”

She nodded, sighing. “Aieee, Abajai. Hekat has so much to learn.”

He tugged her godbraids. “And Hekat is learning. You speak beautifully now. I am pleased with you.”

She gifted him with her widest smile. Pleasing Abajai was all she asked for.

At last they came to a blue wooden door set into a high wall of pale cream stone. The most beautiful slave stood guard before it. He was tall and muscled, clad in black silk pantaloons, with a fistful of amulets round his neck and his bare chest tattooed with snakes and lizards. His scarlet slave’s godbraid was heavy with godbells. He saw them and dropped hard to his knees, his face lighting up in a radiant smile.

“Master Abajai! Master Yagji! The god sees you, masters! It sees you in its eye!”

“Stand, stand, Nim,” said Abajai, laughing. “And open the door. Your caravanning masters are finally come home.”

The slave Nim leapt to his feet and flung open the blue wooden door so they might enter the villa’s grounds. “Retoth will weep to see you, masters! Everything is beautiful, as you left it!”