The Godspeaker Trilogy (63 page)

“ Hekat . . . ”

“It is my right, Vortka. Raklion told me. A warlord can seek the god in the godpool and not even a high godspeaker can say he will not.” Vortka opened his mouth, and she added quickly, “And if you say again I am not the warlord I will prick you with my snakeblade so you cannot sit down.”

He shut his mouth with a snap of teeth, he went to the door and pulled it open. “Prepare the godpool,” he said to his godspeakers. “The Empress desires to speak with the god.”

In the black and red darkness, she swam with the god.

Here am I, Hekat, naked in blood. Here am I, Hekat, I have a great question. You have raised me high, I am precious and chosen. I am your Empress, I am also your slave. You are the god, the true ruler of Mijak.

Should you not also rule the world?

Vortka watched Hekat emerge from the godpool, her skin dripping scarlet, her eyes alight with the god. She was beautiful, naked. He could not think of that. He felt his heart slow, felt the air melt around him.

She has her answer . . . and I am afraid.

“Vortka,” she said. She was smiling. Radiant. The scars on her face and her belly glowed. “I heard the god. The god has spoken. Mijak is not the end. It is only the beginning.”

“The beginning of what?” he said, leading her to the cleansing room, with its milk, water and towels. “Hekat, it is late. I am tired. No riddles. What did the god say? What does it want?”

She laughed. “The god desires a godhouse in every city, godposts in every village beneath the sun. It desires to be taken beyond Mijak’s borders, into every godless corner of the world. Where there are demons, it desires their destruction. I will be Hekat, Empress of the world. You will be Vortka, the world’s high godspeaker.”

The blood was drying on her, he should wash her clean. All he could do was stand and stare. “ And Zandakar ?” His voice was a whisper.

“Zandakar will be what he is: the god’s smiting hammer, smiting the world. Vortka, I understand everything now. This is why you found the crystal. This is why my son was born. He is not needed to smite Mijak, Mijak is conquered. It is tamed to my knife-dancing fist. No. The hammer was born to tame the world .”

Jerkily, he began to fill the cleansing pool, so he might free her of blood. “Hekat . . . I know you are precious. I know you are chosen. But so am I chosen and the god has told me none of this. Each newsun and lowsun I make private sacrifice, I read omens in the blood and the entrails, I pray to the god to show me its want. Not once has it spoken of conquest, of destruction. Of Empress Hekat, Empress of the world.”

She stared at him, disdainful. “You did not ask in the godpool, Vortka. You have not clearly heard the god.”

“I think I have,” he said. “I think I have heard it more clearly than you.”

“ Tcha !” She began to wash herself, he did not try to stop her. “That is not possible. You know who I am and what I have done. Because you are high godspeaker will you believe a cockerel’s gizzards before you believe me ?”

Aieee, the god see her. So arrogant, so proud. “Hekat, it is not a question of believing . It is what I know , that you do not.”

She reached for a towel and began drying herself. “And what do you know , Vortka, that the god did not tell me?”

There were no stools or benches, so he shifted to the wall and let himself sag. “Those tablets in the cupboard, remember, in the high godspeaker chamber? Sacred to high godspeakers, read by no-one else alive.”

She shrugged, indifferent. “So?”

It was not her fault, she had not read them. He beat down his temper and kept his voice calm. “Long ago, Hekat, in a time lost to all men but me, as the last high godspeaker, Mijak was a mighty empire. Its borders extended far beyond the Sand River, into lands whose names are no longer remembered, or even thought of under the sun. In that time many conquered peoples were brought here as slaves or new citizens of the Mijaki Empire. Mijakis of this age are their descendants. That is why there are differences among us, varying shades of skin, eyes of many colors. Hekat, it was the Empire that brought Mijak to ruin.”

He had her attention. She had always loved stories . . . “Ruin?”

“Yes. Ruin .” He straightened, and folded his arms. “The warlord then, he was called the Emperor, listened to demons, he abandoned the god. Deaf to the god’s voice, Mijak grew greedy, it stretched too far, demanded too much. Plagues were brought here by a new conquered nation, they killed Mijak’s people, killed horses and cattle and goats and sheep. Infants starved to death in their cradles. Starving men, desperate, gnawed on their bones. Corpses filled our cities to the rooftops, unharvested crops rotted in the fields. The Empire of Mijak stood on the brink of destruction. It was the god’s judgement, its wrathful smiting. The few surviving godspeakers prayed to the god, they asked its forgiveness, they begged for mercy.”

Hekat clutched her towel, her eyes wide, intent. “And the god? Did it answer?”

“Yes. It answered,” he told her. “It promised to save those who were left, but only if they swore perfect obedience until the end of time. The godspeakers swore obedience, what else could they do? And that is why we live within Mijak’s borders. That is why godposts are everywhere a man looks and godbowls are there for filling, we must be humble, always , lest we too are tempted by demons, lest we should, like our forebears, abandon the god. It is why godspeakers rule our streets, why sacrifice is constant, why nothing can happen beyond the god’s eye. We are wicked people, Hekat. We betrayed the god’s trust, we must live in its wrath. We must live on our knees, and hope to be forgiven.”

After a moment, Hekat smiled. “No, Vortka. You are mistaken. We were wicked people, we are wicked no more. Forgiveness is ours, we can stand, and not kneel. Our sins are behind us, the god wants us in the world! Nagarak told Raklion that when he was warlord of Mijak the underground rivers would flow again, the lands beyond Et-Raklion would grow green and lush. Nagarak was wrong. I have ridden through Mijak, it is not so. I tell you truly, until the god’s will is worked on the world, the underground rivers cannot flow. I tell you Mijak’s browning is the god’s sign that we must turn outwards . If we do not, Mijak will die. The god will forsake us for not heeding its want.”

Vortka stared at her. “You are certain? You have no doubt at all?”

“Tcha!” she said, and lightly slapped his cheek. “Vortka, Vortka, this is why you and I were given power, the potsmith, the goatslut. Abajai and Yagji, Raklion and Nagarak . . . they were the god’s instruments, nothing more. It used them to help us. We are the precious ones, we are precious for this reason: to create Zandakar, the god’s smiting hammer. To make the god a gift of the world.”

After Hekat left him, unshakeable in her belief, Vortka discarded his robe and his loincloth and lowered himself into the godpool.

Are Hekat’s words true, god? Are we forgiven, is our past the past? Is Zandakar your hammer? Did I create him so he could smite the world?

The blood was cold, and cloying. Sunk beneath the godpool’s surface, he lost all understanding of time.

Then he heard the god, it whispered:

Watch.

Wait.

Speak.

Act.

Love.

Startled, he broke the cold red surface. Plunged to the pool’s edge, gasping for air.

Love ? Never before had the god said love . It did not matter, the god had spoken. It did not deny what Hekat believed. Hekat knife-dancer, Empress of the world. Vortka, the world’s high godspeaker. Zandakar, their beautiful son, born the god’s breathing, smiting hammer.

He felt sick. Dizzy. Must this fall to me?

It was the god’s desire, he would obey. He would stand by Hekat, he would guide their son, he would see the god’s will done in the world.

Humbled, he cleansed himself and returned to his chamber, where he sought in vain for elusive sleep.

Hekat slept easily, she slept smiling in the god’s conquering eye. At newsun she waited on her balcony for Zandakar to join her, every newsun they ate honeyed cornmush and figs together. He did not come, she went to find him.

He was in Dmitrak’s chamber, holding the drooling, cooing brat, the nurse-slave was giggling, encouraging, as Zandakar laughed to see Nagarak’s spawn suck his finger. She wanted to shout at him, to scold him, to beat him, but his face was so beautiful, it was shining with love. He held the brat tenderly, as though it was breakable, one day he would hold his own son with such breathless care.

In the godhouse Vortka had asked her, What is the god’s purpose for Dmitrak, Hekat? Did you ask it? Do you know?

Nagarak’s brat? Revulsion had shivered her. He has no purpose. He sits in the shadows, burping and wailing and shitting his wraps .

“Zandakar,” she said. “Give him to the nurse-slave and come eat your cornmush. I have been waiting for you, that is not polite.”

“I am sorry, Yuma,” her son said quickly, and did as he was told. As they walked to her balcony he added, “The warlord said I must protect my brother. He is so small and helpless. Please, do not be angry.”

She breathed hard, once. “I am not angry. I wondered where you were.”

His glance was doubtful, he knew better than to question. They sat on the balcony, listening to the birds sing, watching the god’s sky fade from pink and gold to blue. Slaves served them in silence, they ate their honeyed cornmush. When they were finished she dismissed the slaves.

“My son, our lives are very different now. The god has spoken, it has tasked me with a special purpose. It has tasked you too and we must speak of that. Our words must be secret, no-one else can know.”

His eyes were large and limpid, so expressive. “I can keep a secret, Yuma.”

“The god has made me Empress of Mijak. It desires to make me Empress of the world. It will make of you its smiting hammer, to destroy ungodly demons in its name.”

She watched his beautiful lips shape her words in mimicry. It will make of you its smiting hammer . He said aloud, wondering, “What does that mean?”

“It means you are special, Zandakar. It means you are so deeply in the god’s eye it cannot see any other boy.”

Zandakar frowned. “It cannot see Dimmi?”

Dimmi ? Ah, yes. His stupid pet name for Nagarak’s brat, she let it pass, for now. “I told you, Zandakar. It can only see you. This task is an honor, it is a burden. From this newsun forward you cannot be a small boy. You are Zandakar, the god’s hammer, the Empress’s son. That is who you are, and will be, forever.”

“I thought I was the warlord,” he whispered.

“Tcha. You are more than a warlord. A warlord is nothing . The god throws down warlords, it smites them in the dirt.”

Zandakar looked frightened, he sought refuge in silence. When he did speak again, his beautiful eyes were bright. “Why am I chosen, Yuma? Why me , and not some other boy?”

She left her chair and gathered him to her, she did not often show softness. He must be hard. “Because you are my son. That is why, Zandakar.”

He hid his face against her shoulder. “Yuma . . . can you send for Hanochek to come home? He has been gone for a long time, he must be punished by now. And I miss him. He could lead the warhost since I am not the warlord anymore.”

She opened her arms and let him fall. “ Stupid boy! You nearly died because of Hanochek! He nearly thwarted the god’s great plan! And I have no need of a man to lead the warhost. Before I was Empress I was Hekat warleader. I am still Hekat warleader. The warhost is mine . I would not bring him home even if I could, Zandakar, and I cannot. Hanochek is dead .”

Crumpled on the ground, he stared up at her, shocked. “Hano is dead ?” he whispered. “Yuma, no .”

She leaned down, her shadow fell over him. “If you weep for him, Zandakar, I swear I will whip you on the scorpion wheel!”

He shook his head, she saw he was shivering. “No, Yuma. No weeping.”

“ Good ,” she said, and rewarded him with her smile. “Now, my son, up on your feet. It is time to attend the newsun sacrifice. Then we will go to the barracks. We must knife-dance for the god.”

As soon as Vortka saw his son, kneeling before the altar in the Sacrifice chamber, he knew that something was troubling him. He did not comment, he sacrificed the ten white lambs and poured their blood in the sacred bowls, then prayed in silence as Zandakar, his mother and the attending godspeakers took their sip and were sanctified in the god’s eye.

Hekat dismissed their son to the barracks and lingered to speak with him once sacrifice was done. When they were alone she considered him in silence, then said, “So, Vortka high godspeaker. You understand the god now?”

He nodded. “I understand you heard its will. I understand my purpose in its plan.”

“Good.” She smiled. “Vortka, that is good. We have walked in the god’s eye together this far, I do not wish to walk on alone. The god is mighty. We are its mighty slaves.”

He would never accustom himself to her utter conviction. He accepted she did not doubt the god, but that she would never doubt herself ? Aieee, such confidence. He confessed it, he felt envy.

He said, “When, Hekat? When must we take the god into the world?”

“When Zandakar has become a man, and I have made of the large crystal a weapon. When the god has shown him how to use it. When my warhost numbers in the tens of thousands, each warrior in it sworn to die for the god.” She touched his arm, a fleeting brush of calloused fingers. “Then will Zandakar and I smite the world. There is time yet. I have much to do. Mijak must grow green and fat again, it must be beautiful to honor the god.”

Zandakar . He said, “What has upset our son, Hekat? Do you know?” Do you even notice? Your eyes are so often fixed on the god . “I thought he—”

She waved her hand. “I told him sinning Hanochek was dead. He fancies himself grieved, he will not grieve for long.”

“Dead? What happened? How did you—”

“Tcha! Does it matter? I think it does not. I must go, Vortka. I am expected in the barracks.”

He took a step after her. “ Hekat —”

“No!” she said, turning. “You are too kind-hearted, you will make him soft. Zandakar is my son, he is born for the god. Is the god soft, Vortka? Does a smiting hammer weep? I think not, high godspeaker. Do not interfere.”