Crimson Spear (Blood and Sand Book 1) (6 page)

Vekal had been barely twenty when he had been called to deliver the wrath of the Lady Iliya. They had come to him in his small cot room, three of them, dressed in funeral black and purple. They were all impossibly tall to the youth, taller than any human should be, and the floor-length robes made it difficult to see if they wore head dresses or stilts. Each one bore a silver bird mask atop their head, with one frozen, crystal tear. The mask of Iliya, Consort of Annwn, and Goddess of Mourning.

“It is time,” said one, extending black velvet gloves, holding a tiny wooden carry case out to Vekal.

Vekal, barely out of bed and holding his nightshirt around him, had heard of this ceremony, but had never dreamed that he would actually be participating in it. He accepted the wooden box with his hands shaking, and heard something rattle inside of it.

“You will need steadier hands than that, student,” said another of the bird-masked Iliyas.

“Yes…” Vekal replied, seeking the right word. My Goddess? Master? Mistress? He settled for, “… I will, your honor.”

“Hm.” The title seemed acceptable enough, as they moved quickly onto the next part of the ceremony. “You know that the Morshanti are the chosen of Annwn, Keepers of the Records of History and of the Dead, and go-betweens between this life and the next.”

“Yes,” Vekal nodded.

“You know that we are also devoted to the Goddess of Time, of Mourning, and of Remembrance. She who holds the river of time in her eye, Iliya.”

“Yes.”

“Then know this. Whilst Annwn records, it is Iliya who mourns. And there are many things that she sees in this world which has given her cause to mourn. Things which should not be recorded, and things that should. There are sins against the course of time itself, and the garden of life, which have to be properly accounted for. Do you understand?” the original Iliya-mask intoned.

“Yes,” Vekal said.

“There is one who lives at the corner of Gravesinger’s Row and Old Street. His name is Leobar Maphid. He was the partner to Edinal Maphid, and step-father to her daughter Geraldine Maphid. Can you find him?”

“Yes.”

“Just a few moons ago, Geraldine Maphid was found dead, in the care of Leobar. She was young, and the Justice of the Courts believe that she fell. Edinal Maphid, a pious daughter of the gods, came to us and told us that Leobar had become increasingly more violent, more and more so when he was in his cups, and that he took his violence out on her and Geraldine. Do you understand me, student?”

“I do,” Vekal said.

“Leobar went unpunished, as it is his right as the stepfather to do as he wishes in his own home—according to the law of man. But there is another law, is there not, student?”

“The law of the gods.”

“Correct. Edinal has petitioned the gods to right this accounting, and Iliya has answered, for she mourns, whilst Annwn only records. You must make amends on behalf of the Goddess, with Leobar Maphid, of Gravesinger’s Row and Old Street. You may use whatever tools you have in that box, and you are reminded that your actions are sacred, representing the Goddess. They are not to be discussed nor shared with any. Do you understand, student?”

“I do,” Vekal said solemnly, and he bowed his head to recite the litany of the Undying with them. When he lifted his head once more, they were gone. Eagerly, and without delay, he cracked open the tiny wooden box, to find that there was a thin stiletto knife inside, a small blowpipe and darts, a tiny phial of some milky-white substance, and a whole selection of dried seed heads.

Vekal nudged the dried heads, which were in small goblets with caps upon them, rattling inside. He knew them to be Papaver Mortum. When these seeds were crushed, they could render a man immune to all feeling, or unconscious, and ultimately, dead. Next, he opened the tiny phial and sniffed the substance. Something sweet-smelling, but bitter at the same time that made his nose itch. He didn’t know what that was, but he bet that if he dipped either darts or blade in it and struck someone, they would suffer a very short life indeed.

Vekal got dressed in his garb, putting on clean, dark robes and then winding his dark tan-colored bandages around his arms, legs, hands, and feet. They helped to dampen the noise of his passage, and would help with his next endeavor: sneaking to his victim.

In the end, the mission was sickeningly easier than he had expected. When Vekal had first heard about this aspect of the Sin Eater’s craft, he had imagined battling murderers across rooftops, or sneaking into cities to defeat warlords and foreign enemy heroes.

He had certainly never expected it to be so easy as to drop a few drops of almost colorless liquid into the wine cup of a drunkard.

Edinal Maphid had left Leobar, her second husband, after the court’s ruling. She was not to be found at the corner of Old Street and Gravesinger’s. This made the job of killing the man much easier than it would be otherwise.

Vekal spent half the night navigating a long, quiet route to the Maphid residence, making sure that he wasn’t seen—or if he was, that he appeared to be a beggar looking for a place to lay his head. When he finally arrived at the small sandstone building in the terrace of many more, he found all of the lanterns and torches of the nearby houses out, a scraggy cat sitting on a windowsill, and the door to the Maphid’s house already open.

Creeping inside, Vekal had almost knocked over Leobar, who appeared to be asleep in the kitchen chair by the hearth.

“Whatcha… what?” The large, heavy-set man called Leobar opened his eyes groggily, looking around to wonder why he had thought he had seen someone. Instead, all he saw was the open door and the streets outside.

“Damn cat,” the drunkard groaned to himself, closing his eyes once more and, within a few moments, went back to a noisy, raspy snore.

Vekal emerged from behind the door like a ghost, an apparition from hell itself, before dropping the entire contents of the phial into the man’s half-empty wine glass, and hesitating. Did he really have the right to do this? Was the man going to suffer?

His mind solidified when he saw the ugly cuts and bruises all over the man’s hand. He was a fighter. He had probably taken out his inept rage and drunkenness on his new wife and his stepdaughter. This was the will of the Goddess.

Stepping back behind the door, Vekal waited until he was completely hidden before making a gentle coughing noise.

“Hudcha…what!?” Leobar coughed and sneezed, waking from his snoring sleep to look around the room. Outside, the scraggy cat yowled at the commotion, and Leobar growled in annoyance. “I said, shut up!” he grumbled loudly, reaching for the half cup of wine and drinking it angrily, downing it all in one big gulp.

He fell asleep in a matter of seconds, never to wake up again, and Vekal had killed his first man as a Sin Eater.

“I can understand why the Sin Eaters have such a bad reputation,” Vekal said heavily, coming out of his reverie.

“Then you will also know that your testimony probably won’t be welcomed at Fuldoon,” Suriyen said. “They will think that you are a traitor, or working for Dal Grehb, or there to bring misfortune to the port.”

Vekal shrugged.
What does it matter to a dead man walking what the living think?

“And so I will go with you to the Council,” Suriyen said. “And I will speak on your behalf.”

Vekal blinked, uncertain of what he had just heard. He had no greater plans than to run away from the death-charge of the Menaali, to flee as far as he could until he could figure out what hold Ikrit had inside of him… He certainly had no intention of provoking a war between two city-states.

“I—I thank you, but do you not have this caravan to scout or guard?” Vekal stammered. “And either way, I thank you for all of your help, I truly do, but this Council will believe you far more than they would me.”

“No. The Council will need proof. And you, Sin Eater, leagues away from your holy city and bearing the wounds that you do, will be proof enough.” Suriyen was adamant.

Vekal shook his head. “But what about the other refugees from Tir? The citizens and guards? They can act as witnesses to your Council.”

“What refugees, Sin Eater?” Suriyen said, coldly.

“The refugees,” he repeated. “The ones who fled Tir before I did. They must have come this way.”

There was a long pause of silence, before Suriyen said carefully, “There have been no travelers coming this way aside from us, Sin Eater. If your refugees came this way, then the Menaali must have hunted them down, or else the Ghouls got them.”

Vekal shuddered. How many had escaped the city of Tir before it had fallen? Had they all been dragged down to the deeps by the Ghoulish men and women?

“I’m sorry. I know that these were your people,” Suriyen said.

My adopted people,
Vekal thought, but didn’t say anything.

“Look, Sin Eater, you know my name. You will have to give me something else to call you soon enough,” Suriyen said grumpily.

“Vekal. Vekal Morson,” he murmured.

“Then pleased to meet you, Vekal Morson. You will be safe for a while, here. But I would advise you to stay put until I return, and not to speak either to Boris or Talon or any of the other gypsies who might come here.”

“Gypsies?” Vekal asked. “Is that who you are traveling with?”

“Whom I am
guarding
, yes. I have been guard to the gypsies for a few months now, as I know the area around the desert, and I know how to handle a sword. We were awakened just a few nights ago to a commotion. The Ghouls of the desert had attacked our caravan and seized the boy, Talon, and dragged him back to their den. The reason why it is me, here, looking after you, is because the gypsies saw what—
who
—
it was that I dragged out of the dark back there, and they instantly refused to have any more to do with you.”

Vekal shrugged. gypsy caravans traveled across the deserts every now and again, but most of the time they journeyed beyond the Iron Pass to the far north. They came to Tir once every few years, their colorful carts, dresses, and robes causing a stir amongst the generally somber and reserved city.

But they would bring with them spices and goods and news that the city could never get otherwise. Vekal
had even watched them come to the Tower, there to beseech and pray to the gods in their own strange-sounding language.

The gypsies did not understand the holy mandate from heaven that the Sin Eaters operated under. They saw themselves as kinds of messengers, deliverers of wisdom as they pedaled their fortune cards and crystal balls. The austere, sanctimonious, serious and quiet life of a Sin Eater was not one that fit with the gypsy life.

“Yes, I know of their hatred for your kind. So I would advise you to stay here.”

Not that I can move much anyway,
Vekal thought, feeling his back throb and twitch.

“And be prepared to take orders from me, and me alone. They wanted to leave you in the dirt and the sand, but I couldn’t leave someone who had saved Talon out there. You are lucky, Sin Eater, that it was me who went after the boy, and not one of the gypsies themselves.” Suriyen turned to leave the tent, before pausing. “Maybe it is true what all of you Sin Eaters claim, that you are beloved of the gods, and some lucky spirit does watch over you.”

Vekal found himself chuckling at the thought. If only she knew what ‘lucky’ spirit had indeed saved his and the boy’s lives. Maybe it would indeed have been a much better idea to leave them both stranded and dying in the desert than to inflict the devil on the crowded city of Fuldoon.

Vekal was given three days and nights to recover in his tent, during which time the only other person that he saw was the guard Suriyen, who came in to tend to his wounds and deliver his meals. He found that by the morning of the fourth day, when he heard the whistles and the calls of the gypsies announcing that it was time for them to move, he could stand, and even walk. He staggered to the edge of the tent flap and pulled it aside, to feel momentarily blinded by the hot southern sun as he stepped out.

The light filled his eyes and he staggered, reaching out to hold onto the edge of a tent pole. A shadow crossed the man’s face, and he heard the unmistakable caw of one of the albino crows of the Sand Seas.

Lord Annwn! You have not forsaken me!
Vekal’s heart soared for an instant, before it came crashing down once more to earth.

“Vekal! This is incredible!” It was Suriyen, hurrying towards him through the encampment. She looked busy and stressed. Her robes were drawn up to the sides of her belt, hanging with an array of pouches, knives, and tools, and she carried a staff with her which she used to prod the recalcitrant camel-type creatures that the gypsies were using to transport their wares.

“Thank you, but I do not feel very incredible,” Vekal croaked, eyeing his new home uncertainly.

The gypsy caravan was quite a large one, all told, with several large dome tents and a small herd of the smaller camel creatures. Three carts were already being strapped to the beasts, and loaded with crates, boxes, and blankets by the dark-skinned travelers. It was a large family group, he saw, with older men and women doing most of the work. They wore the traditional colorful saris and wraps of their kind, and whenever his eyes met theirs, they would turn away and spit on the dust, or wave three fingers to avert the evil eye.

Am I that terrible?
Vekal wondered, grinning through a crooked mouth. His scars that he had since childhood had never healed, and his face, along with the rest of his body, was a dense patchwork of white and silvered striations over dark skin. He was a monster, he knew, and now he contained one as well.

“You may not feel it, but you can walk, which is miracle enough for me. Maybe there is some truth in your gods,” Suriyen joked, but Vekal could tell that she really didn’t believe it at all. “I was fully expecting to have to load you and your cot onto the back of one of the pack-beasts today, but thankfully you can walk yourself, so I will not have to.” She smiled wearily as though even this little piece of good news was welcome enough, then shook her head at him again. “Well, you heal quickly, Sin Eater, that is for sure.”

Vekal shrugged, not wanting to think about whether the reason for that might be the creature lodged inside of him.

“Anything I can do?” he said instead, looking at the general chaos of the camp as it grew smaller by confusing increments and many arguments.

“Stay out of the way. See that the beasts don’t wander off. Don’t fall behind,” the guard rattled off quickly, with all of the efficiency of one who had been doing this trip for a long time. She handed him her goad as well as a pack of water, and turned back to see to her duties, leaving Vekal to wobble and shake on unsteady feet.

The camel-like pack beasts were smaller than horses, but not by much, with long necks and snout-like faces, and soft, golden skin. They regarded him with dark, rolling eyes, tasting the air and nibbling the millet feed bags that they had been given. They grunted and made soft purring noises at him, seeming not particularly interested either in running away or in interacting with any but their own kind. Vekal was pleased that at least this was a task that he might be able to handle.

Have I healed quickly?
he thought, feeling his back twinge with pain. Having never seen the wound himself, it was impossible for him to say whether or not he should be dead, and it still hurt.

Ikrit? Is this your doing?
He spoke to the spirit inside of him, only to hear stubborn silence.
Perhaps the thing has gone…
He dared to hope.
Perhaps my long sleep allowed it to leave my body, or being near death, it was dragged down to its resting place in hell…

Feeling considerably brighter, Vekal smiled at the nearest of the pack-beasts, which promptly defecated on the ground.

***

Their march across the desert was slow going, with the gypsy caravan moving far slower than he would have liked. But Vekal found that even if he had wanted to travel faster, he feared he might not be able to.

The gypsies were, for the most part, happy traveling companions—with each other. The women and the younger folk might sing songs as they sat aboard the carts or walked, all the while their hands worked industriously on sewing and spinning threads or other simple tasks. Vekal could pick up a few words of their language from his studies at the tower, and he heard them several times referring to the ‘Dark One’ who had joined their caravan, and the ‘shadows’ that it must surely bring to their trip.

To his slight surprise, Suriyen left her newest charge alone, although he caught her looking back at him from her place up front with a worried look. He thought that perhaps this was her way of letting her employers know that Vekal could be trusted to be alone, and that he was no ‘dark one’ or man-shaped curse.

The guard roamed far and wide around the caravan, using her long legs and a new walking staff to probe the sands ahead to clear them of scorpions, snakes, and hidden sinkholes. She worked hard, Vekal saw, scouring the horizon with her eye-glass for any signs of danger.

It wasn’t until late afternoon when Suriyen called for the caravans to halt, at which time the gypsies pulled the carts to form a rough triangle, and stretched canvas over the top to form some shade from the burning sun. Vekal waited with the pack beasts until Suriyen signaled him to come over, depositing a bag of grain and a water barrel by the side of one of the carts.

“Don’t worry, they won’t stray far from food and water out here.” She indicated that he should join the rest under the tarp.

Vekal looked at her worriedly when he saw the dark glances that the rest of the gypsies gave him.

“I’m the scout and guard of this caravan, and it is my job to see that you all get to Fuldoon alive. And I can’t do that if you die from heat stroke, can I?” Suriyen growled, shoving him, not so gently, under the awning.

The nearest gypsy woman hissed and spat onto the sand as she moved away from him. Vekal needed no translation for what that gesture meant. He found a space at the edge of the shade, beside a cart wheel, and ignored the glances that the rest were giving him. Vekal had spent a long time ignoring what others thought of him, and by now, he rather thought that he was an expert at it. The conversation grew mumbled, but soon enough tiredness and hunger overtook their need to ostracize him, and Vekal was listening to the sound of the gypsies talking and sharing food with each other.

“Here.” Someone knelt down in the crunchy sand and dirt beside him. It was Talon, the boy he had saved. Vekal looked at him with narrowed eyes, and then at the bread, cheese, and water bottle he was being offered.

“I thought Suriyen told you not to talk to me,” Vekal said, gratefully taking the nourishment. The cheese was very tangy and salty, but the bread was spiced with some kind of fruit and nuts, and was delicious.

“She’s busy talking the route through.” Talon shrugged. He still looked a little tired and weary from his ordeal, but he was much better than before. Talon sat and watched the strange man eat the food.

“She likes you. Suriyen. I think she sees herself in you. Young. Out of place,” Vekal told the boy.

Talon made an agreeing sound and shrugged. “Yeah, I know. The gypsies are good to me. I may stay with the gypsies when we get to the city, or travel with Suriyen. We’ll see when we get there.”

If war doesn’t overtake us all,
Vekal thought, a wave of reality crushing him down. The Menaali controlled Tir, and they were only a few short days from the port of Fuldoon. What would come of all of them now? Was Dal Grehb happy with his daughter’s apparent health, and would he return to the Iron Pass?

“Everyone!” said Suriyen’s clear and strong voice from one end of the awning. She was standing a little hunched so that others could see her. “After our delay in the sands,” she began, and Vekal felt a few eyes turning to regard him warily, “we have made good time. Another day and we will be at the river, and our destination is across from us. We should be within safer territories now, and tonight we will stop at an oasis that I know well. One more day of hardship and your journey will be over. I will, as I have promised, see you to safe passage to the gates of Fuldoon, and there I will leave your services.”

There were a few ragged cheers, although Vekal couldn’t tell if it was because the crowd was happy at the job that she had done so far, or happy that she would be out of their company.

“Thank you,” Suriyen took the cheers as a compliment, although the Sin Eater detected a wry smile at the edges of her lips. “I think. But there are other matters that I feel that I must advise you. These seem to be unsettled times for the Sand Seas. The Menaali have come further east than they ever have before, and I fear that the weeks, months, and years ahead will be very difficult for us all. With that in mind, I would advise you all to travel through Fuldoon to the Inner Sea, and there to carry on your journeys in the far north.”

This time the crowd erupted into angry murmurs and hisses.
Not a plan they like, then.

“No, friends!” Suriyen tried to placate them with upraised hands. “I am not trying to secure more work for myself. This whole region will be unsettled, and may even be at war by winter’s mark. I believe that over this short time that I have served you all, I have come to know you, and even, that some of you may have come to regard me as an ally. Out of respect for that trust, I am telling you this: that you may find rich markets to the south of the Inner Sea, but it is to the north that you and your children will be safe.”

The same spitting woman who had hissed at Vekal cursed in annoyance. She seemed older than the rest, with heavily lined skin and dark hair streaked with silver. Suriyen opened her mouth as though to argue her case, then shrugged, before moving around the congregation to where Vekal and Talon sat. The Sin Eater saw the guard share a warning glance with the boy, who knew that he was not to talk to his savior, but all three of them sat and shared their food all the same.

“That went well,” Vekal said with a wry smile.

“Could have gone better, I guess.” Suriyen shrugged. “And as for you, Sin Eater, will you come with me to the Council when we reach the city?”

Vekal nodded. He hadn’t really considered it, to be honest; he just flowed forward, carried on by the tide of events.
But what is it that I want to do, now that Tir is gone?
He was surprised that he had no answer to that question at all.

Ikrit?
he asked of himself, but still the demon inside of him was silent.
Perhaps the beast really
has
gone. Perhaps there never was a beast to begin with, and it was all a pain-addled dream.

“I dare say that there will be many who wish to meet you.” Suriyen took a slug of water. “The last Sin Eater of Tir’an’fal.”

Vekal’s hand shook.
Could it really be that I am the last of my kind?
Far above him, one of the albino crows of the desert, beloved to Annwn, called harshly, and without pity.