Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Horror, #Vampires, #Transylvania (Romania), #Krakatoa (Indonesia), #Volcanic Eruptions
Dark of the Sun (35 page)
The three boys were staring at her raptly, their expressions revealing how totally captivated they were by her pronouncements. Zumir spoke for the three of them when he said, “We will bring the offerings the Lords of the Earth demand. We will find our enemies and drain their blood.” He poked Muksi in the side. “We will find our enemies and drain their blood—won’t we?”
Muksi gulped and held up his small, bony fist. “And ponies. We will take the blood of their ponies and give it to the Lords of the Earth.”
Dukkai motioned to the youngsters to be quiet. “I want to talk with Zangi-Ragozh. Leave us. And tell the rest not to disturb us.” She pointed to the line of ponies a short distance away. “Imgalas could use your help. He is still weak from fever.”
Zumir frowned down at his feet. “But we want to stay with you.”
“Go help Imgalas,” said Dukkai more firmly.
With every indication of sulking, the three boys ambled away, making it as plain as possible that they had no use for the task Dukkai had given them.
“Imgalas has had fever?” Ragoczy Franciscus asked.
“Yes. I have given him boiled willow-bark and prepared as much broth as we might make from our skinny goats, but he is slow to improve, and he is often taken with chills.” She seemed almost herself again, but for the way in which her eyes flickered from object to object, rarely lingering on him for very long. “We have lost ponies, as well. Some have got too weak to work, wolves took four, and seven goats. Three were wounded in our last fight with the Uighurs. Four children have died since Baru Ksoka died, and two nameless infants beyond my own.” She stifled a sob. “We gave three goats to the Lords of the Earth a few days ago, and it was enough to bring us safely here. Now we will have to find something else to offer them, so that we may travel on and find a new place to stay, at least as long as winter lasts.”
“Winter is still several fortnights away,” Ragoczy Franciscus reminded her.
“But it is coming. The days are shortening, and in five fortnights, the nights will be longer than the days, and the year will close in again.” She stared into the distance, as if she could see winter lurking at the northern horizon. “I never thought I would see you again, except in the Sky World of Spirits.”
There was a flurry of activity near the second line of tents, and then Gotsada came rushing toward Dukkai, his hands raised protectively as if to wrest Dukkai out of harm’s way. “Stand back, foreigner!” he warned in bad Persian.
“Foreigner I am,” said Ragoczy Franciscus cordially, “but not even you, Gotsada, can call me a stranger.” He stood still while he watched Gotsada wrestle with his various impulses. “I am here to discover how you have fared since we parted company.”
Gotsada was puzzled. “Zangi-Ragozh? How do you come to be here?”
“Much the same way you do,” he answered. “I came along the trade routes.” He saw Dukkai’s cousin falter and went on, “You went north and west, I stayed to the westbound roads until the Kushan Road, and then I came north.” He was aware of a dozen sets of eyes upon him from vantage points around the camp, and he could sense the wariness in their scrutiny.
“He has been here a short while, I gather,” said Dukkai.
“That I have. My companion and I have come a very long way, and our animals need rest, as do we,” said Ragoczy Franciscus. “I have hired a house in the town.”
Dukkai pressed her lips together tightly, then made herself ask, “Do you still have your sovereign remedy?”
“That is one I must make more of; I have only a very small portion left—not enough to treat any serious malady or injury,” said Ragoczy Franciscus. “I am surprised you remember it.”
“A very odd liquid,” Dukkai said. “I was curious about its properties, but—” She closed her mouth abruptly once more.
Gotsada came up to Ragoczy Franciscus, his manner pugnacious. “He has not brought us anything but trouble. Before he joined us, we had our own lands to travel, and our herds were thriving. Once he began to move with us, adversity came upon us relentlessly. And here he is again.”
“It was the darkening of the sun that brought our hardships,” Dukkai said with strong conviction. “Had Zangi-Ragozh not helped us, we would have suffered more.”
“You may think that,” said Gotsada. “But you know he is part of the misfortunes that have been heaped upon us.”
“Those same misfortunes have touched all the world,” said Ragoczy Franciscus at his most reasonable. “I have seen suffering everywhere—”
“You bring it with you,” said Gotsada, his ire mounting. “Leave us alone, you interloper.” There was a scuffle of activity at the far side of the camp, and a curse bellowed, then hushed. “You see? We know, if you do not, that this foreigner is trouble.”
Dukkai made a gesture and rounded on her cousin. “If there is any danger in Zangi-Ragozh, I will know of it, and I can see no miasma around him. No,” she said as Gotsada attempted to speak. “I want to hear nothing from you. You have already said too much.”
“I only speak what our clan thinks.” Saying this, he turned on his heel and stomped off.
Dukkai spoke when Gotsada was gone. “He had no cause. No one has accused you of bringing us trouble.”
“At least not where you could hear them,” said Ragoczy Franciscus.
Dukkai laughed bitterly. “There are too few of us to keep secrets. Gotsada is discontented and often surly, and usually he finds an explanation for himself in what others have done. The clan would receive you well, if you want to join us once more.”
Ragoczy Franciscus shook his head. “No; Gotsada is probably right—perhaps I should not linger here.” He looked about the camp, still aware of being under surveillance. “I have no desire to impose upon any of you, but when Ro-shei told me that there were Jou’an-Jou’an on this island, I had to come and see for myself.” He took a step back toward his horse. “I am glad to see you are well. I am truly sorry that your infant died. I hope you will be spared further trials.” He reverenced her before he turned to mount his blue roan.
“You must come again,” Dukkai exclaimed, a wild note in her voice. “Promise me you will come again.”
Ragoczy Franciscus paused, one foot in the metal foot-loop. “Is that what you want?”
“Oh, yes,” she said a bit breathlessly. “If you will come again, I will be truly grateful.”
“All right,” he said as he mounted. “When shall I come?”
“Tomorrow night, or the night after. Come when the fires burn low. You remember which tent is mine?”
“The one with the basin in front of the door, for offerings,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, taking the reins in hand and ready to depart.
She stared at him, an unspoken plea in her blue eyes. “Yes. Come in two nights. I will wait for you.”
He nodded. “I will come.” Then, with a tap of his heel, he swung the blue roan around and let her canter out of the Desert Cats camp.
Text of a letter from Vermakrides at Ecbatana in Persia to his father, Phocadoros Vermakrides, in Trebizond, carried by courier and delivered in December of 536.
To my father, the greetings of your most devoted son, from Ecbatana, where I will spend the winter. You may anticipate my arrival in the spring, in the Paschal Season, if God favors me.
You may question the wisdom of my decision to remain here for so long, but I have two reasons to do so: first is that I am recovering from an illness that has only recently begun to abate. I doubt that traveling in winter, given the severity of the winter of last year and the cold of the summer before, would help in the restoration of my health, and might bring about another onset of this sickness, which could prove more harrowing if it should strike while we are on the road in the more desolate stretches through the mountains. My second reason I will explain after I tell you what has befallen my companions.
This journey has been the most difficult of any I have undertaken, and not because of my illness, or the vicissitudes of weather. No, the reasons strike closer to home: I regret to inform you that my two cousins—Theocrates, living at Kokand, and Themistokles, who traveled with me—are dead, Theocrates from fever, Themistokles from the infection of a broken arm. I have seen them both buried with Christian ceremony and marked their graves with crosses so that no evil force can call them forth before Christ comes again. I have also lost three men from my caravan, one of whom was killed by marauding outlaws who attempted to steal our goods, and the other two from drinking polluted water. In addition, two mules died, and two camels. I have had to purchase ponies and donkeys to carry most of our goods home, and for one extraordinary find, I have also purchased a wagon.
I must tell you of this treasure: it is a bone wholly of rock, but such a bone as you have never seen! Stood on end, it reaches almost to my shoulder. It resembles a thighbone, but nothing like any other thigh, for it is massive. I am of the opinion it must be from a dragon, perhaps the very dragon that the Devil became when the Rebel Angels fell from Paradise. In any case, I have been exhibiting it as we go along, and I have made a tidy sum from those eager to see this prodigious relic. I secured it from a foreigner who was returning to the West from a long sojourn in China. He spoke of dreadful times in that faraway place, and many difficulties in his journey westward. He came upon this bone, he claimed, in a landslide and dug it out. Whatever the truth may be, I have seen nothing like this in my journey, and I believe I am most fortunate to have this astonishing object to display.
This town is much reduced in size from when I was last here. I was dumbfounded to see so many houses left empty, and the markets reduced to less than a third of their wonted size. I hope this does not continue, for I am certain that if it is allowed to go on much longer, the establishments along the Silk Road that contribute so much to our trade will wither as surely as the grass has done. For that reason, I am going to purchase a house here, so that when members of our family set out for the East, they will not be at the mercy of the whims of innkeepers and village tax collectors. I have already selected one of my companions to remain here until we relieve him. By having a house here, we will lessen the taxes that can be demanded of us, and it will let us be able to resupply our caravans on the same terms the locals do, which should shortly balance the price paid for the house.
I attended the gem-market two days ago and was able to secure amber, sapphires, and a number of lesser stones, all for less than I would expect to pay. This is another sign of the vicissitudes of the times—that the price of these jewels has lessened even while the difficulty of bringing them to the towns has increased. This speaks of a scarcity that has touched every trade route in Asia, and that may spread into the ports of the Mediterranean Sea as time goes by. I would urge you to have ships ready to sail as soon as the worst of the winter storms have passed, for I believe that we may find an advantage if we act swiftly, but if we falter, the returns on our efforts will drop as they have for so many others who have been laggard.
May this find you well, and all our family in good health. I ask you to inform my wife that I anticipate our reunion with joy, and the hope that she and our children have not endured any malady or loss of fortune in my absence. I ask you also to give three gold coins to our church for prayers for our safe return.
Basilios Vermakrides,
Merchant of Trebizond
Merchant of Trebizond
Fragrant smoke wreathed Dukkai’s head, making her appear ghostly in the twilight, on this the night of the dark of the moon. She held up her arms and began a long invocation of the Lords of the Earth, with the remaining Desert Cats encircling her at the edge of the firelight. “Tonight, O Lords of the Earth, we give you blood, to strengthen you, and to ask you to spare our clan more losses. We are still hungry—all the world is hungry. We find death everywhere, from want, from war, from cold. Accidents have ravaged us. Raiders have come and taken our smoked meats. Three more of our numbers have taken ill with Marsh Fever, and they are in need of your succor, as are we all.” She lapsed into chanting, the words unclear to Ragoczy Franciscus, who stood outside the cluster of the tents, his blue roan behind him.
Neitis Ksoka approached Dukkai carrying a bleating, half-grown goat, its legs trussed so it would not kick too much. He held out a long, straight knife, saying as he did, “For the honor and the power of the Lords of the Earth and the safety of our clan.”
Dukkai took the kid from Neitis Ksoka and swung it over the fire three times, continuing her chanting as she did. Then she caught the young animal close against her and in a quick, graceful movement cut its throat but took great care not to sever its head or touch the spine, for such a clumsy act would sully the sacrifice. Satisfied with her work, she swung the kid once, twice, three times more to fling the gouting blood onto as many clan members as possible. She herself was soon soaked in it, and her face had become a gory mask. As the kid went limp in her grasp, she once again held it over the fire so that it was engulfed in smoke; she remained there, chanting and swinging the kid as the smoke roiled. “The offering is accepted,” she announced, and staggered backward as if suddenly bereft of all her strength.
“I have it!” Neitis Ksoka cried, springing forward to keep the kid from falling into the fire—a dreadful omen if allowed to happen—while Demen Ksai rushed forward to steady Dukkai.
“Let the fire burn down of its own,” said Dukkai weakly. “The blood isn’t enough to put it out.”
Neitis Ksoka carried the kid away from the fire to a wooden stand, where he cut off the head, putting it into a leather bag, then began to skin and gut the little goat. He sliced small bits of raw meat from the bones and offered this to his clan members, making sure everyone had a taste of this pledge between them and the Lords of the Earth.
From his vantage point beyond the tents, Ragoczy Franciscus watched, his thoughts on the sacrificial animal. He had witnessed such offerings from his own youth to the altars of Nineveh and Babylon, to the Temple of Imhotep. He had also seen the slaughter in the Roman arena during the Great Games and the maddened hunting of the Goths, and every time he felt sympathy for the animal giving its blood.
Standing on her own again, Dukkai approached the sacrificial fire once more, her arms extended. “Sweet is the life given to the Lords of the Earth,” she intoned. “Let all of us give thanks for the bounty they provide.” There was a thudding of a drum from the edge of the light; Zumir was pounding it with a leather-wrapped stick. “This, like the heart of the Earth, shows the Lords of the Earth our devotion.”
The Desert Cats began to move with the drumbeat, a slow, sideways stamp then a shuffle, all gradually moving to the right around the fire. After a short while most of the clan had joined the dance, many of them chewing their bit of goat in time to their dance.
“I will read the smoke,” Dukkai announced, and half-closed her eyes, rocking in place with the throb of the drum. She was soon caught up in the drumming and the fragrant smoke, and after a short while, she began again to speak. “Hear the Gods of the Smoke, Desert Cats: there is more traveling to come, always to the West,” she murmured. “There are more raiders and greater dangers ahead, but we cannot remain here long, for the Lords of the Earth are weakened by so much water, and we will have more fever among us if we stay here more than two fortnights—long enough to repair our tents. The Lords of the Earth will desert us if we stay too long.” She began to hum, a ululating, soft wail without melody. “There is no rest for us before we reach the high plains in the crook of the mountains. We will lose more of our own before we arrive there, and our herds and flocks will be more reduced. I will fall before the place is found. If we do not continue on, all of us must surely die, from hunger, from fever, from raiders, from the loss of the favor of the Lords of the Earth. So say the Gods of the Smoke, and the Lords of the Earth.” She swayed in place, but soon stepped back, her hand to her head, her face pale beneath the blood drying on it.
The drumming stopped abruptly; the dancers broke their circle and moved away. Dukkai motioned to Neitis Ksoka, who doused the fire with the last of the kid’s blood mixed with the powerful liquor of the clan, and a new billow of smoke arose. Dukkai watched it with intense concentration, all her attention fixed on the rising cloud. Finally she shook her head and stared at Neitis Ksoka. “Speak to me in the morning, and I will tell you, for what the Lords of the Earth imparted in your regard are for your ears alone,” she said, her voice dropping to an exhausted whisper. She rubbed her face, smearing what damp blood there still was on her skin, and flaking off some of the dried. “The Lords of the Earth are pacified for now, but they will not be neglected.”
“So far from our own territory, how can they reach us?” Zumir dared to ask.
Dukkai answered him, “There are veins in the earth, as there are in our bodies; we see them in the rivers, and in the roads. The veins in the earth are everywhere, including deep within the earth, where the Lords of the Earth reside, and the Lords of the Earth are the bodies of those veins. That is why the head must remain with the sacrifice, or the Lords of the Earth would be cut off from us. The mountains are their spine, and when they fall, all the world is fallen.” She drew a long breath, going on in a sing-song, “When we travel the roads, we walk their bodies, the bodies of the Lords of the Earth. When we drink from the lakes and the rivers, we have their surface blood, which is clear when it is wholesome, because it is near the air. When the rain comes, it is the Lord of the Skies rewarding or punishing or guiding the Lords of the Earth. When snow blankets the roads and the rivers, it is so the Lords of the Earth may sink back into their deep veins and rest, just as the stars go beyond the God of the Sky to rest. All things need rest, Zumir, and if they tire too much, they die.” She sank down onto her knees; no one moved to touch her.
Zumir suddenly abandoned his drum and fled.
Neitis Ksoka took the bag containing the head and held it out to Dukkai,. “Where is this to be buried?”
“Under the enclosure for our ponies.” She was barely audible, but purpose shone in her bright blue eyes. “See that you dig deep. A shallow scratch will insult the Lords of the Earth.”
“Very good,” said Neitis Ksoka, and went to fetch a shovel before he began his assigned task.
The rest of the Desert Cats milled about near the fire, a few of them still chewing on the raw goat meat. The air smelled of copper and smoke, and the people of the clan seemed uneasy. Finally one of the women—Ragoczy Franciscus recognized the first wife of Demen Ksai—approached Dukkai, bending down to her. “Can you stand?”
“In a moment,” she said flatly. “The Lords of the Earth are near. I must attend to what they say.” She bent over and put her ear to the ground.
Demen Ksai’s wife looked about uneasily. “So we must prepare for what they may demand.”
“They have had enough already,” said Jekan Medassi, who now had to lean heavily on a stick when she walked and coughed much too often. “Isn’t it enough that they have taken our best men and sickened our children?”
Ragoczy Franciscus heard this with apprehension, for he was aware of the sharply increased desperation among the people of the clan. He moved back a half dozen steps, pushing his horse with his shoulder. He could not help but remember the other times—in Babylon, in Nineveh, in his homeland, in the nameless wastes of the Persian mountains, in Byzantium—when he had seen chaos erupt out of prolonged privation, and this was building up to be another such instance.
“You there!” a voice challenged him from the path behind him.
Ragoczy Franciscus turned around, his hand on his short Byzantine dagger, the only weapon he had brought. “Yes?”
“Step forward where I can see you,” the voice demanded.
Doing as he was ordered, Ragoczy Franciscus found a vantage place where the spill of the firelight brought his face into sharp relief. His composure was unruffled although all his senses were on the alert, and he moved very little. “I think you know me,” he said in a calm voice.
Losdi Moksal came into view, his scarred cheek looking ferocious as the surface of the desert. He was not yet used to his position of family leadership, and so he blustered to make up for his unease. “Zangi-Ragozh. You have no business being here. This is a sacred occasion.”
“Dukkai sent for me,” Ragoczy Franciscus said with diffidence. “I meant no disrespect.”
“You stay here,” Losdi Moksal told him. “I will speak with her directly.”
“Well and good,” said Ragoczy Franciscus. “It is fitting that she should have the right to decide about my presence.” He patted the neck of his blue roan. “My horse and I will wait here.”
Losdi Moksal made an abrupt nod, then strode off toward the fire where Dukkai was still crouched on the ground, her head pressed to the earth. “Dukkai,” he said as he neared her.
Very slowly she looked up, her eyes dazed. “What is it?”
“I found Zangi-Ragozh out there”—he gestured in the general direction—“and he said you asked him to come tonight. Surely you didn’t want him here?”
She rubbed her eyes and rose. “Yes. I did. He has a great strength and I have need of it.” She tottered a little as she got to her feet, but steadied herself; when she spoke again, her voice was clearer. “I am grateful that he came.” As Losdi Moksal turned away, Dukkai peered into the deepening night. “Zangi-Ragozh?”
“I am here,” he said, and raised his hand to provide movement for her to see.
“You, did come,” she said, stumbling toward him. “You, of all I have ever known, are one with the Lords of the Earth.”
“I might not have said it that way, but I agree,” he said, a suggestion of a smile in the depths of his eyes.
She held out her bloodstained hands to him. “I knew you would help me. You gave me more force than the sacrifice alone could provide.”
“Then I am richly rewarded,” he said, touching her shoulder lightly; the blood spattered there was still slightly damp and tacky. He studied her face, seeing fatigue and a deeper exhaustion than he had perceived before. Trying not to be alarmed, he glanced toward the fire. “I do not recall you reading the smoke while I traveled with your clan.”
She gave a short, wild laugh. “How could I read the smoke while I was pregnant?”
“Ah. I did not understand this.” He waited for her to speak; when she only sighed, he said, “You read the smoke tonight.”
“You must have seen,” she said.
“I did, but why?” He let this suggestion hang between them for a short while.
She shook her head. “I have need of your strength.”
“Do you? With all your clan around you, what difference can I make.”
“You need nothing from me, you seek nothing from me, so your strength is untrammeled.” She wiped her brow, leaving streaks in the dried blood. “I am too worn to be able to support them all.”
Ragoczy Franciscus regarded her with recondite understanding. “Then I am honored you sent for me.” He held out his hand to her. “You and your clan have had much to bear.”
“That is the reason we have made this sacrifice,” she said, adding in a whisper, “There is more misfortune to come.”
“Is that what you saw?” he asked with concern, his dark eyes searching her face.
“No. Or that was not the whole of it.” She finally laid her hand in his; her fingers were hot, feverish, and dry. “Some of our ponies are failing, and that worries me, given what I saw in the smoke. They must all be sound and strong for us to continue our journey.”
“Certainly they must,” he said, grasping the enormity of this new problem.
“It was bad enough when we were only hungry. But then we lost Baru Ksoka and the rest, and their ponies, and his flesh did not sustain us long. I thought we would regain our vigor here, but that has not been the case. Yet the Lords of the Earth led us here.” She glowered at him. “You are of them, of the Lords of the Earth, but you are not one of us.”
This last startled him. “No, I am not,” he said, a shade too quickly.
“But you know the Lords of the Earth of old,” she went on dreamily. “You have seen how they work in the world, and you know their power. And you will know what must be done so that our ponies will not fail. We must be able to hunt, and we cannot do it from goatcarts.” She pulled away from him suddenly. “If you have anything to help our ponies thrive, I ask you to provide it, for the sake of the Lords of the Earth.”
“I hope I can help,” said Ragoczy Franciscus. “You have come so far and sustained so much, it is hardly conceivable that you should have to bear more.”
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