The Godspeaker Trilogy (31 page)

He cast a swift look past her, at approaching Nagarak. “Does that matter? I was there. I tell you Zandakar’s falling was not caused by demons. I am a tested godspeaker and he is my son, I would sense if demons touched him in front of me. Zandakar wanted to impress you on your return, he is eager for a foal from one of the war-horses, that he can raise and train as his own to ride. Hanochek was teaching him a warrior trick, the pony mis-stepped itself and—”

“ Hanochek ?” she said. She could scarcely breathe, her heart was beating so hard. “ He is responsible for nearly killing Zandakar?”

Vortka stepped back. “No. No, Hekat. Will you not hear me, this was an accident . You cannot blame Zandakar, you cannot blame Hanochek. You cannot blame the pony, or demons, or the god. And Zandakar is mended, he rests in a godhouse sickroom but I swear in the god’s eye he is whole again. I have sat with him since it happened, I—”

“When was that?” she asked coldly. “When did Hanochek nearly kill my son?”

“It happened two days ago,” said Vortka, resigned. “After highsun sacrifice.”

“The pony mis-stepped itself?” She spat on the ground. “I want that pony dead, Vortka. When I have seen Zandakar unharmed I will slit its throat myself, I will—”

“You are too late, Hekat. It is already dead. It died when it fell, that is why Zandakar fell. The pony missed its footing, it broke its neck and died in the grass.”

“A pity it did not fall on Hanochek and kill him when it died! Where is the warleader, Vortka? Skulking in the shadows, too much a coward to face his crime?”

Vortka stepped closer and put his hand on her knee. “Hekat, he is in the godhouse sickroom with Zandakar. He has not left our son’s side since the accident. Word was sent that the warlord was coming, I told Hanochek to stay with Zandakar. I told him I would tell you what happened and that you would understand. I told him you would see he was not responsible.”

She struck his hand from her leg, she almost kicked him in the face. “You had no business telling him anything! I am Zandakar’s mother, I decide who is to blame!” She turned her head, Raklion was almost upon them. He was close enough for her to see his concern, and beside him Nagarak’s simmering rage. “Stay here, Vortka,” she commanded. “Tell the warlord and the high godspeaker that I go to Zandakar. We will speak again later. I will find you, do not fear.”

He nodded and stepped back again, he did not try to stop her. That was a good thing, she would have ridden right over him.

She galloped all the way to the godhouse’s main doors. Godspeakers leaving after the highsun sacrifice stared and protested, but she did not care. She threw her reins at one of them and flung her way inside, snared the first godspeaker she saw and demanded her son.

The godspeaker took her to him without saying a word. That was a good thing, she was in a killing mood.

When at last she saw Zandakar her eyes did waste water. Tall for a boy, so beautiful, so precious. He slept on a narrow bed in a small, private sickroom, protected by a light blanket. His breathing was deep and sweetly unlabored, his limbs beneath the covers straight and whole. His many godbraids were crowded with amulets, he wore golden godbells, he was Mijak’s son. A narrow pink line marred his beautiful forehead, where his head had been cut open. She could see clots of dried blood in his godbraids. They would need unbraiding so his hair could be washed thoroughly. How he hated that: he moaned and complained, he sounded like dead Yagji.

Beside him sat Hanochek, hunched in a chair. He stood when he saw her standing in the doorway, his face was drawn, his eyes full of tears.

“Hekat . . .”

“Outside,” she said curtly, and stepped aside to let him pass into the corridor. Then she closed the sickroom door gently, so Zandakar would not wake. Leading Hanochek to a safe distance, banishing two nearby godspeakers with a single burning look, she took out her snakeblade and pressed it to Hanochek’s throat.

“ Tell me why I should not kill you.”

His eyes overflowed, water washed down his cheeks. “The god see me, Hekat, I am not to blame. The pony stumbled, it could have happened anywhere.”

“The pony stumbled because you were teaching Zandakar tricks . Who gave you permission? Who said you could risk him? Who are you, Hanochek, to endanger my son ?”

Water ran down his face, blood trickled from his throat. Her snakeblade was biting, it was hungry to drink. “I did not endanger him,” said Hano, the wicked man. “I love him, you know that. I—”

“Aieee, yes, you love him. You love yourself more. Zandakar is above you, he will rule when Raklion is dead. If Zandakar dies you dream Raklion will name you his warlord heir, you dream of Et-Hanochek, of Hanochek warlord!”

“No! No !” he protested. “I never dreamed that, Raklion is my knife-brother, he will be warlord of Mijak and Zandakar will succeed him! I am their warleader, it is all that I want!”

Warlord of Mijak? Hanochek knew? Raklion had told him? Aieee, the fool ! “Do I care what you want? I think I do not! I care for my son, you nearly killed him. Do you think I will not punish you? Do you think I will forgive ?”

Hanochek stared at her, his lips thinned in a snarl. “You do not have the power to punish me. Raklion is warlord. You are—”

“His voice.” She smiled at Hano, and knew she was snarling. “Banotaj tried to kill him in the Heart of Mijak. I saved his life, I slew that wicked man like I slew his sinning father. Raklion is injured, he may never be himself again. I am Raklion’s voice, I am Zandakar’s mother. You will be punished.” She turned her head. “ Godspeaker !”

Within two heartbeats a godspeaker appeared. “Yes?”

She lowered her snakeblade and looked at the man, she had never seen him before. Et-Raklion was overrun with godspeakers. “Do you know who I am?”

The godspeaker nodded. “You are Hekat knife-dancer.”

She jerked her head at Hanochek. “This man is a criminal. Take him to an empty chamber, he must be attended at all times. Do not let him leave or speak to anyone . I will sit with my son till the warlord arrives. Do not tell him of this criminal, Hanochek. That is my place, the god will smite you if you usurp it.” She glanced at Hano. “You can take him away.”

“ Wait !” said Hanochek, as the godspeaker put a hand upon him. “What do you mean, Hekat, Raklion is injured? What do you mean he may never be the same? How is he injured? What are his wounds?”

Aieee, the pleasure it gave her to deny him. “Raklion warlord is no longer your business.”

Hano’s fists clenched, a strangled sound of rage escaped his throat. “Bitch! I want to see him! I will stay here till I have seen him, I will speak to him before you poison his heart against me, I will speak to him in my own defense! I am Raklion’s warleader, I will be heard!”

She laughed in his face, laughed harder to see that wound him. My son nearly died, are you really so stupid? “Call yourself whatever you like, Hano. Words are empty, they are puffs of air. Take him, godspeaker. He is nothing and no-one. He talks and he talks, I do not hear him.”

“Your arrogance will undo you, Hekat!” said Hanochek, as the godspeaker pushed him away from the wall. “Your blindness will bring you down, demons will devour you!”

She turned her back on him, she walked away. Zandakar waited in the sickroom, no-one else existed in the world.

She sat in silence beside her sleeping son, she did not know how long she sat there, watching him dream. One hand held his, the other clasped her scorpion amulet. It slept, like Zandakar, but it gave her comfort. It was her connection to the god.

You saved him, you saved him. How can I thank you? Ask me for anything, it will be yours.

At last the pattern of her son’s breathing changed, grew shallow, his healed head shifted on his pillow, waking his godbells, waking him. His eyes flew open and he saw her beside him.

“ Yuma !”

She bent low and kissed his scarred forehead. “Zandakar warlord. I have returned.”

His gaze searched the room. “Where am I, Yuma?”

Her heart hitched sharply, she did not show it in her face. “You are in a godhouse sickroom. You hurt yourself, you do not remember?”

“Remember?” He frowned. “No, I do not—” Then he gasped, and sat up. “Yes! I do remember. Yuma! My pony!”

“Didijik is dead, Zandakar,” she told him sternly, and pushed him flat to his pillows. “He broke his neck when he fell in the horse-field. He is dead for your wickedness, his blood is on your sinning hands. Tcha ! No weeping!” she added, as his eyes filled with water. “Mijak has many ponies, it has but one Zandakar. What were you doing, riding tricks in the horse-field?”

His gaze slipped away from her, he knew he had done wrong. “I meant a surprise. To show you, and the warlord. I wanted to show you I can ride a horse. I knew that riding trick, I did it over and over for many highsuns before I fell.” Now his face was mutinous. “I am not a baby, Yuma, I ride better than any other boy. Even warriors fall, Hanochek says so.”

“Yes, you ride better,” she snapped, unappeased. Hanochek, you wicked man, I will see you thrown down . “You do everything better, you are born a warlord, Zandakar warlord in the god’s eye. To be better, Zandakar, is to tempt wicked demons. They seduce you with sweet songs, they entice you to sin! Have I not told you? When will you learn? If the god did not see you, you would be dead.”

“I am sorry, Yuma,” her small son whispered, chastened. “I am sorry for my pony.”

“Tcha! You are sorry for your pony, you must be sorry for Hanochek warleader. You sinned with him behind my back, is he your mother, that you would plot and plan secrets with him , that you would have him teach you warrior tricks that I would teach you, in my time? Aieee, you have hurt me, Zandakar. You have broken my heart. And Hanochek will be sent away, he will be sent from Et-Raklion, he will die far from his home.”

“ Yuma !” cried Zandakar, and wept like a slave. “No, Yuma! Please. I love Hano. He rides with me, he trains with me, Hanochek warleader is my friend !”

She stared at him unflinching, she turned her heart to stone. “You loved your pony and it is dead. It was your friend, your wickedness killed it. Give thanks to the god your friend Hanochek is not dead too. Tcha . Stop your weeping, it does not change what is. Does a warlord weep? I think he does not.”

Choking, hiccuping, Zandakar defeated his tears. “Will I have another pony, Yuma?” he asked, staring at his tight-clenched fists. “I promise I will not kill another pony, I will never sin like that again.”

“It is too soon to be talking of ponies,” she told him. “You are barely mended, I—”

A soft knock on the door, and then it opened. “Your pardon,” said another godspeaker she had never seen before. “The warlord is here. He speaks with the warleader in the chamber assigned him, I—”

“What?” Enraged, Hekat leapt to her feet. “You stupid godspeakers! Did I not tell you—”

“The warleader grew violent, he demanded to see Raklion warlord,” said the godspeaker. “We could not deny him, it was his right when the warlord came.”

With a bone-cracking effort, she subdued her fury. “Take me to Raklion, I will see him at once.” She turned to the bed. “Zandakar, you will stay here. This sorry business is not yet finished. You must be punished for your wicked ways.”

She watched him flinch, she saw his lips tremble. Satisfied for the moment she left him alone, and followed the godspeaker.

Raklion, you fool, you stupid man. Hanochek blinds you, I must open your eyes.

R
aklion sat on a straight-backed wooden chair, his hand resting lightly on Hanochek’s bowed head. Hanochek knelt before him, his body heaving with grief.

“ Tcha !” said Hekat, slamming the chamber door behind her. “See how this wicked man twists your mind! Zandakar lies broken nearly to death and you comfort the criminal who tried to murder him?”

Raklion was beaten down with fatigue and pain. He lifted his slow hand from Hanochek’s head and tried to appease her. “Hekat, beloved—”

“ I am not your beloved ! How am I your beloved when you would plunge your snakeblade into my heart?”

“Aieee, Hekat,” said Raklion, there were tears in his voice, his sunken cheeks were wet. “I knew you were with Zandakar, I knew he was not alone. I will see him, of course I will see him, but Hano begged for my presence, how could I refuse my—”

“How could you not ?” she demanded, advancing towards him. “What is this wicked man, compared to my son?”

Raklion’s face hardened. “He is our son, Hekat. I think you forget that. You also forget I am the warlord, I will not be spoken to like a slave! Not even by you, who are in the god’s eye.”

Releasing a shuddering breath she stopped, and closed her fingers round her scorpion amulet. Give me your strength, god, you must give me your strength. You must help me rid Raklion of this inconvenient Hano . “I never forget you are the warlord, Raklion. You are the warlord walking and sitting, you are the warlord in my dreams. This wicked Hanochek is not the warlord. He is only a warrior, like any warrior in your warhost.”

“He is more than that! He is my warleader and my friend! He was my friend long before we met, am I a fickle man who will forget that?”

As though the words were a declaration of forgiveness, Hanochek rose from his knees and stood beside Raklion. In his red-rimmed eyes, malicious triumph. Hekat saw it, she longed to smite him. She did not unsheathe her snakeblade, this was a battle of words, not knives.

“Raklion, every warrior in the barracks knows how Zandakar was nearly killed. Every warrior knows this man, this friend , took Zandakar to the horse-field, which is dangerous, and let him gallop his pony there where he had no business to ride. Before we left for Mijak’s Heart this man swore an oath to you, he said: His life is safe in my hands . Leave this man in his wickedness, Raklion. Go to Zandakar and you will see how safe he was in Hanochek’s hands.”

Hanochek said, “Zandakar’s fall was an accident. Raklion knows how I am contrite. He knows how truly I love his son.”

She laughed. “He knows what you tell him. I am Hekat, I know more than words. I know men’s hearts, I see with the god’s eye. Raklion .” She walked forward until she was close enough to touch him. “If this Hanochek goes unpunished every warrior in your warhost, every citizen in your city, every warlord thrown down in the Heart of Mijak, all those people and every man, woman and child of Mijak, free or slave, it will make no difference, they will all know that a man may cause harm to Zandakar and you will not act. Is that a warlord? I think it is not.”

Words could be weapons, she watched them puncture Raklion like arrows, watched him bleed behind his eyes.

But he must do more than bleed. He must surrender. I will have my way here or I am lost.

“If Hanochek warleader was truly your friend he would beg you to punish him. He would beg to be strapped to the scorpion wheel. He would demand his punishment on the streets of Et-Raklion, he would insist he be whipped from one side of the city to the other, so the people might see how a sinning man is corrected. So the world can see how a warlord is mighty and will not permit weakness to temper his wrath. He does not do that, he kneels at your feet and begs you to excuse him. Is that a warleader? Is that a friend ? I think it is not. And I think that you know it.”

Aieee, such torment in Raklion’s face. With a stifled grunt of pain he pushed to his feet, he limped to the furthest reach of the godhouse chamber, weary almost to dying. He kept his back to Hanochek, and to her.

“Warlord,” said Hanochek. “Do not listen to her. Her tongue drips poison, she seeks to kill your love for me. Why do you keep her, she has served her purpose, you have your son. What use is she now? If you keep her she will destroy you, she was never worthy, send her away .”

“Send me away?” Hekat felt the god’s fury rise. “When I saved your life , Raklion? When I saved you from Bajadek and his sinning son? Send me away, banish Zandakar’s mother, banish Hekat, the god’s knife-dancer? Hekat the precious, Hekat the godchosen, send me away and let him remain?”

Raklion turned, he was like a sandcat cornered by dogs. “I desire to send no-one away.”

“Raklion, you must !” said Hanochek, vicious. His eyes were desperate. “How long have I known you, served you, loved you? How long have I counseled you, how often have you profited from my advice? I advice you now, discard this bitch . You will live to regret it if you don’t!”

“You hear him, Raklion?” said Hekat. “I am Zandakar’s mother, he calls me a bitch . Does he call me that to Zandakar, I wonder? Is that what he tells him when your back is turned? Zandakar, your mother is a bitch .”

Raklion’s face hardened. He looked at Hanochek. “Is it, Hano? Is that what you tell my son when my back is turned? Do you tell him his mother is a bitch ?”

Hanochek stared, he stepped back. “No. Raklion, no .”

“If he does not say it, warlord, then he thinks it!” said Hekat, quickly. “He has never accepted me, he hates me for saving your life with my blade, if he cannot save you he wishes nobody could!”

Aieee, and there was truth in that . Raklion saw it, he saw the truth of her words in Hanochek’s face. The wicked warleader faltered, his tongue stumbled to silence.

“Oh, Hano. Hano ,” Raklion whispered. Tears filled his eyes, they spilled down his cheeks. “I thought we were brothers.”

The chamber door swung open then, to admit Nagarak. “Warlord,” he said, entering the room. “I have seen your son with my own eyes, I have poured the god into him with my godstone. He is well, he may leave the godhouse. You may not. You must remain here for healing, you must recover your strength. Mijak needs its warlord, Mijak will have him.”

Raklion nodded, wiping the water from his face with the palm of his hand. “Yes.”

“What is this?” said Nagarak, frowning. He looked at each of them in turn, his displeasure deepening. “What goes on here?”

“The warlord sends Hanochek from Et-Raklion,” said Hekat. Raklion could not bring himself to speak. “He is no longer warleader, he is a sinning man with hate in his heart. He is no longer welcome, the warlord does not know his name.”

Almost, Nagarak hid his surprise. “Warlord? This is true? You banish Hanochek?”

“Yes,” said Raklion. His face twisted with grief, his fingers clenched to fists. “Hanochek has failed me, he has failed my son. He insults my son’s mother, he insults his warlord and the god. He is not welcome here, I do not know his name.”

“Who then will be warleader?” said Nagarak, his gaze resting on defeated Hanochek and his tears.

Hekat felt a surge of hot pleasure, she felt her scorpion amulet burn. “I will be warleader, Nagarak high godspeaker. I will lead Raklion’s warhost against the god’s enemies.”

“ You ?” said Nagarak, disbelieving. “Tcha. You are a woman.”

Aieee, god. How many times must she tell this stupid man who she was? “I am no woman, Nagarak. I am Hekat knife-dancer, Bajadek’s doom and the doom of his son. I am the god’s knife-dancer, I am Zandakar’s mother. I swam with scorpions, at Mijak’s Heart the god saw me with its eye. It did not smite me, it has raised me high.”

“ Warlord ?” said Nagarak. He could not prevent this, it was warlord’s business. He only protested because he was jealous, like defeated Hanochek he was jealous of her.

Beware, Nagarak. I have beaten Hanochek, I will beat you also. When will you learn I am in the god’s eye?

“Hekat is my warleader,” said Raklion, faintly. He swayed where he stood, threw his hand against the wall. “Did I not tell you, Nagarak, that she speaks with my voice?”

Aieee, the god see him. Here was Raklion’s purpose, to see her with power, so she might make of Zandakar the greatest warlord in the world.

So long as demons do not claim him. Provided he grows to be a man.

The thought was knife-sharp, slicing through her unready heart. Where did it come from?

God . . . is that you?

The god did not answer. She pushed the pain away, and the cruel thought with it. Later she would pray in solitude; later she would examine that thought.

Nagarak said, “Hekat is warleader, you are the warlord, she speaks with your voice. What of this other man, whose name is unknown to you?”

Raklion could not remain standing. Unsteadily he returned to the straight-backed chair, he lowered himself into it. He looked an old and tired man. Hekat went to him, she touched her fingers to his wrist.

“I will do this, Raklion,” she whispered. “Let me do this, you are burdened enough.”

His pained eyes softened with a smile. “You are Hekat, godtouched and precious. You are Zandakar’s mother, I owe you my life. Take this burden from me, I would count it a blessing.”

“I will,” she said, and gestured Nagarak aside. “This unknown man should be sent to a godhouse in a city far from here,” she told him, her voice almost a whisper so Raklion would not hear. “Send him in secret to the godhouse of Et-Jokriel, high godspeaker. The lands of Et-Jokriel are dry and distant, let him sweat there for the god until he dies. Let him never see Et-Raklion again.”

Not Et-Raklion, or Raklion warlord. Not Zandakar, my precious son. They are dead to you, wicked Hanochek. You are dead to me. I have killed you in my eye.

Nagarak looked at her, then glanced at Raklion, so still and quiet. “The warlord says you speak with his voice. So I take this as his decree. At newsun this unknown man shall be taken by godspeakers from the city. He will die in a strange place. He will never return.”

“ Good ,” she said, no need for more words.

Hanochek said nothing, he did not protest. His eyes would not meet hers, he knew she had won. He stood like a whipped slave, like a man made of water.

She wanted to laugh, it would not be wise. “Nagarak high godspeaker, you are the god’s voice. If it is permitted I will withdraw to my son. You say he may leave his sickroom? I will take him away.”

Raklion stirred and lifted his head. “No, do not take him. I desire to see him, I—”

“Raklion, see him later, when you are well and strong again,” she said firmly. “You are weary now, you are not yourself. I fear you will frighten him. You cannot desire that.”

Inside his warlord wool and leather Raklion was shrunken, his flesh had reduced. Losing Hanochek had weakened him further, his eyes were unfocused and sheened with tears. “No. No, I do not desire it. You go to him, Hekat. Tell him I will see him soon. Tell him he is forgiven, I know he repents.”

She nodded. “I will tell him. Nagarak—”

“Hekat?” he said, his eyebrows lifted.

“What has become of the fallen warlords?”

Nagarak’s smile was cold. “They pray on their knees in this godhouse, warleader. Surrounded by godspeakers, they pray for their sins. They beg the god not to smite them, they will pray a long, long time.”

Good. Let them pray till their teeth fall out . “When I have finished with my son, high godspeaker,” she said, “I must tell the warhost I am their warleader. When those tasks are completed, I would consult with you on what must happen next in Mijak. I do not think it wise to wait until Raklion is himself again, we must—”

“Insolent woman!” said Nagarak, offended. “He named you warleader, not warlord. Do not over-reach yourself, I—”

“She is right,” said Raklion. His voice was only a thread of sound. “Nagarak, she is right. Mijak’s Heart was the god’s beginning, it is not the end. The warlords’ cities must be dealt with. There is much to do. Hekat understands. You must take Mijak in your tight fist, you must close your fingers upon every godspark in the land.”

Nagarak’s palms flattened against his scorpion pectoral, he released a slow, hot sigh. “You are the warlord. Hekat, we will speak.”

She nodded to Raklion, and to Nagarak. She did not look at Hanochek. She went to her son.

“Yuma!” He wriggled upright in his sickroom bed. “The high godspeaker came to see me, he said I was healed, I can ride again.” His smile faded. “When I have a new pony.”

She did not sit beside him, she stood at the door. “It will be some time before you are trusted with a pony, Zandakar. You say you are healed. Can you stand upon your feet?”

Zandakar nodded. “Yes, Yuma,” he whispered. “I can stand.”

“Show me.”

He kicked the light blanket aside and slid off the low bed onto the stone floor. His tunic and leggings had been taken, he wore only his loincloth. She inspected his limbs for any sign of their wounds and was pleased to find none. His broken bones were knit clean again. Vortka had not lied, he was neither crippled nor maimed. He was beautiful, and perfect, and precious in her eye.

“Come,” she told him, she was not smiling. “The god desires a conversation with you.”

He followed her from the sickroom and through the busy godhouse. No godspeaker stared, but supplicants from the city did. She ignored them, they did not breathe. She led her son to the tasking chambers and stood outside them in silence, Zandakar mute by her side. From behind closed doors came sounds of suffering and regret. Zandakar’s eyes widened, he shrank against the wall.

She did not comfort him, he was not here to be comforted.

Soon a tasking godspeaker approached. He was younger than Raklion, older than herself. His godbraids reached below his waist. He wore a plain robe, he carried a cane, his eyes were pale brown and serene. “Hekat knife-dancer.”

“No,” she told him. “I am Hekat warleader.” She heard Zandakar gasp, she did not acknowledge it.

“Hekat warleader,” said the taskmaster, and nodded, respectful. “The god sees you in the godhouse. How may I serve?”

“Taskmaster, here is Mijak’s son, its future warlord, Zandakar. He has sinned and much displeased the god. He must be chastised, he must wash clean his sin with water from his eyes. He must do so on the scorpion wheel.”