Tears of the Dead (33 page)

“Slaying dragons is savagery.”

“One small bile sac is worth more than the colony of Wu. The entire ceiling of The Temple of Poseidon is gilded in orichalcum, harvested from thousands of dragons. Before Poseidon established his kingdom, beasts filled the skies. The god’s lust for orichalcum drove the search for dragons, which led to the building of mighty fleets and the Great Age of Exploration.”

He picked up the map and dagger and walked to the wall. I slumped in my chair, the horror of Amiran’s tale stirring up Mother’s stories of how dragons of old saved Creation. Memories from antiquity flooded my mind’s eye, of watching majestic beasts dance between mountain peaks and skim across glacial lakes, listening to bulls’ roars echoing for miles, and of doe’s gossamer wings twinkling high in the sunset like rainbow stars.

“Every new land where the Eleven Princes made landfall in their quest for orichalcum, they encountered barbaric men, only brute animals. Poseidon, in memory of his mortal wife Cleito, swore to bring mankind enlightenment. And thus the Imperial Academy was born, to collect the world’s knowledge and gather it in the shadow of Poseidon’s Temple.” Amiran shrugged, the sadness in his voice turning aside my anger. “Or at least that’s how it began.”

He idly toyed with a contraption, an odd piece of art, fashioned from several small wooden balls of various sizes and colors, all supported on metal arms extending from a large, yellow central ball.

He lightly slapped the balls, one at a time, sending them rotating around the central sphere. “The centuries drifted by, and the Empire grew powerful. Dragons became rare, forcing the princes to abandon their quest for orichalcum and seek other treasures to occupy their lusts.”

Amiran stopped the third ball and, with a quick jab with the dagger, pinned the map to the blue orb. He closed his eyes, as if far away.

“For vanity, the Sun strikes down the lowly dust, lest it conspire with the wind to hide His glory.”

He turned to me.

“What the Eleven Princes once did to the race of dragons, they now do to the race of men…and you are helping them.”

The
Chronicle of Fu Xi

“A great chieftain is quick to the cut. The wind will carry away his mistakes, leaving only the memory of victories. His grandsons will grow tall and strong. A weak chieftain hesitates and knows only anguish. Remorse is his progeny, misery his funeral song.”
– Scythian Proverb

The Chronicle of Fu Xi

***

A man in name only...a hungry boy, that’s all he truly is.

Aizarg swallowed his bile, knowing the sobbing youth kneeling before him faced a man’s judgment.

“Who accuses this man?” Aizarg looked across the faces of those he thought he knew. Skin drawn tight, bellies beginning to cave in, they reminded him of a pack of wild animals.

They look like a’gan.

It wasn’t long after Aizarg heard shouting from the Minnow side of the Spine that he had found Ghalen and Ba-lok standing over the frail looking Minnow boy they called Alad. A man for only one summer, his father being long dead, the demons took his fiancé, and a giant wave took his mother. A reclusive and quiet young man, Alad seemed an outsider even among his own.

Kol-ok and Alad had become friends, however.

Face downcast, rubbing one arm uncomfortably as if she couldn’t warm herself, Doinna’s accusation sounded more like a confession. “Alad sat next to me around the brazier after evening rations. He stole my portion while I looked away to feed sticks to the brazier. When I looked back he hurried to his boat, and my rations had vanished. It could have only been him.”

“You lie!” he screamed. Ba-lok shoved him back to the deck.

“Alad?” Aizarg asked.

“I swear by the Nameless God, I did not steal! I thought about warming my portion, but was too famished. I ate it quickly and retreated to my boat to sleep.” Tears streamed down Alad’s face. “Doinna, why are you lying? I’ve done nothing.”

Kus-ge turned to Ro-xandra. “Search his boat.”

“Go with her,” Aizarg commanded Ghalen.

As Ghalen went to investigate Alad’s boat, Atamoda came running from the other side of the arun-ki, Sana and Alaya following close behind. “We heard shouts.”

Aizarg pointed down to Alad. “He’s accused of stealing food.”

Atamoda grew pale. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Find the truth.”

Ghalen and Ro-xandra returned only a few moments later. Ghalen held out his arms, burgeoning with wads of leaf-wrapped fish.

A stone settled in Aizarg chest. The moment he feared, but hoped would never pass, had finally arrived.

“Ba-lok, he is one of yours. What do you recommend?”

Aizarg wanted Ba-lok to say something, anything that would allow him to spare Alad’s life. But the sco-lo-ti’s unsure expression gave Aizarg no hope.

Kus-ge touched her husband’s arm. “The food belongs to all the clans. Perhaps it’s best to let the Uros decide.”

“Yes,” Ba-lok nodded quickly, obviously relieved. “The food concerns all clans. I defer judgment to the Uros.”

A shadow emerged from behind the mob. “Did not the Uros decree any caught stealing or hording faced exile?”

“Be quiet, a’gan!” Kus-ge hissed at Virag. “You have no say here.”

“Contrary, patesi-le, I do have a say. My belly growls as loudly as any. Alad stole from me as much as he stole from you. The Uros was clear. We all heard him. Exile should be his fate.”

“No, Aizarg!” Atamoda beseeched. “Don’t do this. Confine him to his boat. Cut his rations to the bare minimum. Do anything,
anything
, but do not do this. Have we not endured enough pain?”

“Father,” Kol-ok stepped forward. “Alad is my friend. I believe him. Is there another way?”

Arms outstretched, Virag pleaded to the crowd, as if advocating the most reasonable course of action. “Did Alad not know the decree? Is his belly any more important than the orphans? Because that is what he did, he stole from orphans.” Virag raised an eyebrow toward the heap of fish in Ghalen’s arms. “And it appears he’s been stealing for quite some time.”

Tears rained down Alad’s face, mucus running from his nose, as the man-child search Aizarg’s eyes for any sign of mercy.

Aizarg knelt down. “Why did you steal?”

“I didn’t! Please believe me, Uros. I don’t know how that food got there. You must believe me.”

Aizarg turned to Ghalen, Okta and Levidi, who stood behind him. “What do you counsel?”

“We’re all hungry. If we let one steal, what will stop others?” Okta whispered.

“I have men guarding the food day and night, but Alad was one of them.” Ghalen said. “He must have taken the fish during one of his shifts. I should have been less trusting. I am partially to blame for placing you in this situation. I am sorry, Uros.”

Aizarg shook his head. “Alad’s choices are his own.”

“I support you regardless of your decision.” Levidi put his arm on Aizarg’s shoulder. “But the fish will return. We should remember that.”

The eyes of the Lo nation fell upon him, their weight every bit as heavy as the power in the staff.

Aizarg realized he’d left the rod on the Köy-lo-hely. He flexed his right hand, craving the staff’s weight.

If I delay, the decision will only become more difficult.

Alad stole the food, of that Aizarg had no doubt. The people wanted a decision, a quick resolution. If he delayed there would be grumbling, and judging by the rage on their faces, perhaps even violence.

“I will return this to the Supply Barge,” Ghalen said turning away.

“Stop.” Aizarg took three fish cakes from Ghalen. “After you return them, ready the most seaworthy boat you can find.”

Alad released a mournful wail and pressed his head to the deck.

Atamoda slid between him and Aizarg, as if shielding the boy. “Reconsider! This is irreversible. There is no exile to a marsh teeming with life, a meal as simple as an upturned root, or a fate as a Scythian slave.” She pointed to the Deluge beyond the canopies. “This is death.”

“There is no other way.” Aizarg summoned all his strength under her withering gaze.

“There is always another way.” Atamoda sank to the deck and cradled the boy’s head in her lap. Alaya and Su-gar joined her, but Alad drifted beyond consolation. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he sobbed into her lap.

“The mighty Uros lets the sea do his dirty work.” Atamoda glared up at him. “You might as well take a knife and slice his throat now.”

Never before had Atamoda looked upon him with scorn. A great weight settled on his chest, a dreadful pressure squeezing his heart.

“The Uros has spoken.” With an impassive expression, Kus-ge turned away. Without a word, Ba-lok and the rest of the Minnow filtered away, abandoning one of their own to his doom.

Virag grinned and bowed before melting into the shadows.

Aizarg knew he’d made a mistake, one from which he could not escape.

And neither could Alad.

Someone brushed against him. He looked down to see Sana staring up at him, steel in her eyes. She whispered forcefully where only he could hear. “If you love your people, show no remorse!”

The Scythian girl vanished through the rain curtain.

***

Ba-lok pushed Alad’s boat away into the rain with only three fish cakes, a canopy, and a small bailing pot. By Aizarg’s decree, they denied Alad a paddle or a sea anchor, anything which could provide him steerage to return to the arun-ki.

Kol-ok held his mother, who would not look at Aizarg. Silent tears streamed down Atamoda’s face as the boat slipped away into the downpour.

Alad’s screams floated across a flat sea for two days, penetrating the rain and settling across the arun-ki like a vengeful spirit. At first, he begged for mercy, calling upon the Uros to take him back. As the first night fell, his pleas turned to curses against the Uros, Doinna and the Lo, each accusation a dagger.

Crying unceasingly, Atamoda never left the Supply Barge, trying to shut out Alad’s voice. Furious at Aizarg, she could not eat. Occasionally, Su-gar or Alaya kept her company, but little conversation ensued. Even Bat-or spent most of his time with Sana.

Throughout the second day Alad’s voice faded, perhaps to the south, perhaps the west, Atamoda could not be sure. In the end, Alad only repeated his mother’s name over and over.

A prayer, a hope, a delusion...Atamoda did not know.

A powerful storm rolled down from the north, finally summoning the Uros from the Köy-lo-hely. The men fought wind and sea throughout the night and well into the morning. By dawn, the tempest had washed away three stormwall boats and two Minnow boats, though no one perished.

While others settled to sleep, hungry and exhausted from the night’s battle, Atamoda knelt on the downstream edge, straining to hear Alad’s cries. But the storm had washed the Minnow boy away.

To her left, a boat slipped away into the rain. She couldn’t see the fisherman clearly, but knew by the way he paddled, it could only be Aizarg.

Sana joined her and put her feet in the water, softly splashing with her heels. They both sat in silence until Atamoda finally spoke.

“You think we’re weak, don’t you?”

“I am not Lo. My ways are different.”

“Your people embrace death. You are hard.”

“My people did what was necessary to survive. You have been kind to me, Atamoda. I will not speak ill of you or your people.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because he cannot be here.” She pointed to Aizarg’s ghostly figure in the distance, throwing and retrieving his net.

“I see.” Anger flashed in Atamoda’s heart at the haughty girl who assumed she could council a mother and wife.

“You are angry at me.”

“I am not.”

“You are also a bad liar.” Sana grinned in a knowing way, with eyes far older than her young, strong body deserved. “All of you Lo are bad liars...” her grin suddenly vanished. “…almost all of you.”

Sana pointed to Atamoda’s necklace. “What is that?”

“It is called a li-ge.” Atamoda lifted it from her chest.

“May I touch it?”

Atamoda hesitated for a moment, wondering why the a’gan wanted it. Then she lifted it over her head and placed it in Sana’s palm.

The Scythian lightly traced the stone where the white and black symbols intertwined into one complete circle. “‘There is peace when the souls of man and woman flow together like water.’”

The Scythian’s knowledge of the Lo proverb surprised her.

Sana held the amulet tenderly, almost lovingly, before giving it back to Atamoda.

“I did not mean too insult you by interloping in your affairs,” Sana said. “I am your captive and have never known a man’s love.”

“You’re not our captive, I’ve told...” Atamoda interrupted.

Sana held up her finger. “I
am
a captive, but I have come to call you friend. I have come to love Ba-tor like a brother and will lay down my life to protect him. This is why I tell you these things.

“I am the daughter of Sawseruquo. A mightier war chieftain has never lived, nor a wiser one. A Scythian war council is a gathering of wolves, men who kill as easily as others breathe. To lead such men, my father had to be a wolf among wolves.” She leaned closer to Atamoda. “My father killed hundreds, perhaps thousands of men. Many skulls rattled against his saddle. But he killed not for conquest, or gold, or pleasure, though many of my people did just that.

“My father killed to protect what he loved, his family and his tribe. The Uros killed to protect what he loves. He is a great man.

“He killed to protect you. He killed to protect Ba-tor, Kol-ok and everyone aboard the arun-ki.

“Great men only truly fall when abandoned by those they love.”

Atamoda’s knees suddenly ached, arms heavy with the memory of her battle against the demons. The screams rose in her mind, fresh and terrifying, as did the terrible decisions she made during those dark days.

“I’ve hurt him,” she whispered.

“My father once told me that demons cannot rend what forgiveness has fortified.”

Atamoda couldn’t reconcile such a hope-filled message with a people as bloodthirsty as the Scythians.

“A Scythian war chief said that?”

“My grandmother did. Her wisdom was cherished among my tribe.”

Atamoda reached out and took her hand. “I would have liked to have met your grandmother.”

Sana smiled and stood to go, but looked back at Atamoda.

“Kus-ge...”

“What of her?”

“She walks like a Scythian.”

***

From a patched boat, he tossed the net into a sterile sea. Skin numb and clammy under the rain’s torment, Aizarg needed to throw the net. With every breeze, Aizarg imagined he heard Alad still crying in the distance.

Levidi tried vainly to discourage him from taking a boat alone, asking what they would do if something befell their Uros.

He’d sent enough men out looking for fish, he told Levidi. Now came his turn.