Dragons on the Sea of Night (7 page)

Had he and Moichi ever found reason to offer one another a kind word or even the most rudimentary sign of affection? Hadn't they hidden together in this spot behind the larder that Moichi was now showing to the Fe'edjinn officer? And hadn't they fought each other bloody in the blackness of the hidey-hole?

Better by far to recall Sanda and how she'd cling to his waist, how he protected her from the bullies at school, how he taught her the fundamentals of religion – how to interpret the sacred scriptures writ on the Tablets that had been brought down from the summit of that holiest place of the Iskamen, the Mountain Sin'hai.

But it was impossible to get away from Jesah's treachery for long. Dark, snakelike memories continued to intrude into his consciousness. Hadn't it been Jesah who had abandoned the family, leaving for the Fe'edjinn boot camps in the wilds of the sere Mu'ad wastes? Yes, but it had been Moichi who had been berated by Jud'ae and Sanda for taking to the seas, for forsaking not only the Annai-Nin but all of Iskael.

‘For my part, I can never forgive you,' Jud'ae had said only months before his death. ‘As eldest, you have a sacred responsibility to me and to the family. Who will run the business after I am gone? Jesah? He has only blood-lust in his eyes. Sanda? She is a woman. Soon she will marry, yes, but I will not take a stranger into my confidence. Blood is blood, Moichi. You of all people must know this and abide by the covenants.'

What Sanda thought of all this Moichi did not know. She had been witness to his humiliation, but her silence had been absolute.

It had been dark two hours by the time Moichi completed his tour to the satisfaction of the Fe'edjinn officer. At that point, the officer dismissed his men to other parts of the villa, nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘Moichi Annai-Nin, I, Tamuk, First Darman of the Fe'edjinn, welcome you home.' He did not extend his wrist to be grasped in the Iskamen manner and Moichi marked this well.

‘Where is everyone?' Moichi asked. ‘And why are you here?'

Tamuk offered a hand. ‘Please sit down.'

Aufeya sat, nervously glancing at Moichi, who remained standing. His eyes had never left those of the Fe'edjinn officer. They were in Jud'ae's study, a smallish room in the rear of the villa, filled with scrolls and books and the mementoes of a lifetime. The air was thick with imaginings of what might have been. Moichi had brought them here to show Tamuk the hidden recess that held his father's most precious possession: a hand-writ copy of the Tablets of the Iskamen which had taken five years to create. Oil lamps had been lit, their perfume triggering yet more memories.

Tamuk sighed. ‘You are making this more difficult for yourself.'

‘I have done nothing, First Darman, but come home for chaat.'

Tamuk remained silent for some time. The only sound came from the whip of the palm fronds beyond the windows and a slow drip of water from the scullery nearby. Tamuk took a breath, laced his fingers together and said, ‘First, it is my duty to tell you that your sister is dead.'

‘Sanda!'

Aufeya gave a tiny cry as Moichi staggered backward just as if Tamuk had driven a blade through his chest. She rose and held him as he stood, trembling.

‘What … How?'

‘She was murdered most brutally. It happened three nights ago as she lay sleeping in her bed.'

Moichi's head came up. ‘You said brutally.'

‘I beg you not to make me detail it,' Tamuk said, glancing at Aufeya.

‘Tell me!' Moichi almost screamed it.

‘All right.' Tamuk sighed. ‘The front of her torso was – well, for lack of a better word – shredded. All her ribs were shattered, as if pulled outward, and her intestines had been ripped from her abdomen.'

‘Oh, Lord!' Aufeya clutched Moichi's arm. A cold chill was creeping down his spine, but he stopped it, admonishing himself. It cannot be true, he thought. There must be some other explanation.

Tamuk gave him a withering look before continuing, ‘Her husband–'

‘Husband?'

Tamuk raised his black eyebrows. ‘Yes, your sister married last year. Did you not know?'

Moichi's mind seemed frozen. There was the past, when Sanda had been alive, and then there was the present, when she was not. A sharp and evil demarcation separated the two like a pane of glass. Moichi saw himself locked on the wrong side of that glass.

‘Who …?' His mouth was dry. All of a sudden he was overcome with guilt. If only he had not abandoned his family for the lure of the sea. If only he had been here …

Aufeya left his side long enough to pour out a dark, thick liquor from a glass decanter. She handed him a metal cup, half filled. Moichi looked at it blankly. The cup was inscribed with runes from the Tablets. It was the ritual cup his father had always used for the toast to usher in the chaat feast. He found that his knuckles were white and, in a convulsive gesture, he knocked back the date wine. His eyes watered slightly as he licked his lips. Then his eyes once again focused on the Fe'edjinn officer and he said, ‘Who did Sanda marry?'

‘A merchant from the near slopes of the Mountain Sin'hai. A man named Yesquz.'

‘What is known about him?'

‘Almost nothing at all. He deals in the spices, herbs and medicinal roots found only at the foot of the Mountain Sin'hai. He apparently makes quite a good living of it – he has cornered the market. Your sister did not want for money.'

‘He was not … murdered too?'

‘He is not at this time in Ala'arat. Nor was he on the night your sister was murdered. He travels often.'

‘Where is he?'

‘In the Mu'ad. Trading his goods.'

‘Bring him back,' Moichi said. ‘I want to question him.'

Tamuk looked at him curiously. ‘That was our thought, as well. Your brother, Hamaan, has departed with a detachment to do just that.'

‘Hamaan? My brother's name is Jesah.'

Tamuk waited a moment before adding, ‘No more. He is Qa'tach now, one of the five leaders of the Fe'edjinn, and as such he has taken a Qa'tach name.'

‘I had no idea,' Moichi said after a time.

Tamuk seemed disgusted.

‘Why are my other sisters not here?' Moichi asked.

‘They moved with their families to the Mu'ad settlements,' Tamuk said, ‘when their husbands joined the Fe'edjinn.'

‘God of my fathers,' Moichi whispered.

‘Much has changed here since you left,' Tamuk said, echoing the words of the naval officer who had boarded his ship. ‘This murder, terrible as it is, is far from the first. But your sister is different. She was an Annai-Nin, and her death has galvanized the people. Even the peace party has been silenced, and now all Iskamen are of one mind.'

‘One mind?' Moichi echoed.

‘It is war, man,' Tamuk said. ‘The holy war against Aden.'

‘But how can this be?' Moichi was stunned. ‘Thousands, perhaps millions will die. We are speaking now not merely of war but of genocide.'

‘You had better get used to it. This is the reality you have come home to. Now, if there are no more questions to answer …' Tamuk glanced briefly at Aufeya. ‘So ends my night.' He gave a perfunctory bow that seemed to exclude Moichi. ‘I regret your homecoming is under such tragic circumstances. I will post two men at the front gates.'

‘That won't be necessary, First Darman,' Moichi said.

Tamuk smiled thinly. ‘I am afraid it is. Security policy. The excruciating and inhuman nature of your sister's murder makes it all too likely that the Adenese were responsible. A blow to the Qa'tach, a personal sort of revenge. A typical Adenese message of terrorism.'

Moichi thought of his conversation with the young naval officer. ‘So at last there are Adenese in Ala'arat.'

Tamuk nodded. ‘Agents of their Al Rafaar, their infiltration and assassination organization. They have been quite active of late.' His grin was lupine and mirthless. ‘You see now the necessity of the Fe'edjinn's rise to power. Perhaps you will despise us a little less now. Iskael needs our mailed fist more than ever these days.' He turned to Aufeya. ‘Good evening, madam.' Then he left them without another word.

FOUR

S
HADOWS

In the half-darkened villa
, Aufeya made them dinner. It was very late. The calls to prayer were long gone and, down the steep slope of the hill, the lights of Ala'arat flickered and died – all but brightly lit sentry posts where the fanatic guards of the Fe'edjinn patrolled in ceaseless vigilance. Still, violence and murder had visited itself upon the capital city and no one slept easily.

Placing the food upon the long elaborately carved Macasser ebony table, Aufeya called to Moichi then, hearing no reply, went in search of him. She heard noises as of a fight echoing down the hall, and she flew down it, calling his name over and over. Her heart was in her mouth. What if the murderer had returned to the scene of the crime as Tamuk and his Fe'edjinn obviously suspected?

‘Moichi!' she cried.

And, rounding a corner, found him in his father's vast library, overturning furniture, using his dirks to smash everything in sight. He was alone and in a fury. She shuddered, making the sign of the Palliate, but as was becoming usual these days it did nothing to calm her.

She stood in the doorway, watching the wanton destruction, knowing that she must not stop him, must not interfere in any way, but let the blood madness run its course. She well knew what was ailing him now.

At last it was done, the destruction of his father's carefully mapped-out library complete. He stood in the middle, panting and sweating, his eyes wide and staring like a mad animal. At length, his breathing slowed, his head swung around and his eyes came back into focus.

‘How long have you been standing there?'

‘Does that matter? You haven't eaten since early in the day. Food is on the table.'

The return to the mundane snapped him out of it completely. He nodded, then taking her hand, said, ‘I want to show you something.'

He took her into a room filled with fabrics, brocaded and woven of bright desert colors, all obviously by the same fine hand. He crouched beside the wooden-posted bed, its linens thrown back and crumpled as if the occupant had left in some haste. He lit a single thick candle, setting it atop the bed in its waxy porcelain dish.

He moved aside and she saw the dark irregular stain upon the floor. So this was where Sanda had been slain. There had been no one left in the villa to clean it up or, just as likely, Tamuk and his Fe'edjinn had not allowed anyone in here during their investigation.

‘I miss her and that is so ironic for me, the wanderer, to feel.' She heard the bitterness in his voice. ‘I could have saved her, Aufeya.'

Her heart went out to him. ‘Oh, Moichi, how can you say that?'

‘Because I know,' he said fiercely. ‘Her husband left her here, alone, unprotected.'

‘But this is Ala'arat.'

He shook away her words. ‘If I had been here instead of on the seas …'

‘Your life –
our
lives – would be very different, yes.' She caressed him. ‘But that is a dream, nothing more. She's dead my darling, but I promise you, you are not to blame.'

He looked down at her, then kissed her forehead. Time, she thought. It will take time.

As she went to the door, he said, ‘There is something I have to do here. No. Please stay.'

He knelt by the side of the bed. His fingertips brushed the dark stain, then lifted away. In a moment, she could hear his voice chanting softly in what she knew to be the Iskamen prayer for the dead. His head was covered by a small piece of fabric and his massive shoulders were hunched as if he carried upon them an enormous burden.

He completed his prayer, and still she waited patiently, her head bowed. At last, she took a step forward and, placing her hand gently upon his shoulder, said, ‘You must eat something now. Then we will sleep. It has been a very long day.'

But after the meal there was to be no sleep for them. Moichi, silent while they ate, went out onto the veranda. A moment later, Aufeya followed him. She knew he had heard her because he said, ‘On the sea these hours just before dawn are my favorites, because they are always the most peaceful. A single frigate bird or gull, perhaps, is the only creature stirring. Even the lookout high in his nest is often dozing lightly. On deck, I can feel …' He threw out his arms wide. ‘It is as if my entire being has been attuned to the world, the slow spin, the cosmic clock whirring unheard, unseen, but felt now by me alone.'

‘Can you feel it now?' Aufeya asked softly. ‘It is the time.'

‘I don't know.' He shook his head. ‘Feel like a fish out of water.'

‘On land?'

‘No, here in Iskael I am a stranger … nothing is as I remember it.'

She came and stood by him, her hand on his forearm. ‘Then you should remember that you are not the same, either. Nothing remains, like a fly stuck in amber. Everything is mutable, and change is inevitable.'

‘But war is coming, Aufeya. Oh, not merely war. Now the Iskamen and the Adenese will have at each other until only one race is left alive. It is a nightmare, perhaps the very one that led me to sail the seas. Yet, as you see, I have not escaped. I have returned home on the eve of the holy war. Perhaps, then, it is my fate. And now I am faced with the question I have lived with all my life: how does one stop the inevitable?'

A bird rustled in the underbrush. All around them, the date palms rattled and clattered in the dawn wind that had just begun rising. ‘When I was young, I never came out here on my own. I was too busy down at the port, watching the seamen tramping up and down the quays, and looking out to sea to catch a glimpse of my destiny. Or so I thought. Now I think I did it simply because my father had forbidden it to me. Always with him it was a question of the law and of obeying.'