Barrick closed his eyes. He was finding his way back to prayer, he had discovered, although having met the demigod Jikuyin he still had difficulty believing the gods always had his best interests in mind. But with a choice between the murderous silkins, something called Metal Bats, and Suck-down Toothies, it couldn’t hurt to pray.
O Gods… O Great Ones in Heaven. He tried to think of something to say. Only a few short days ago I discovered I would have to travel across all this fearful, unknown land of demons and monsters with only two companions, a fairy warrior and the captain of my royal guard. Now I still must make that same journey with only one companion—a dung-eating, insolent bird. If you meant to ease my burdens, great ones, you could have done better.
It wasn’t much of a prayer, Barrick knew, but at least he and the gods were talking again.
“Wake me up if something’s going to kill me.” As he stretched out on the uneven ground he could hear the wet sounds of Skurn starting on the dead Follower. Barrick’s ribs ached; his arm felt like it was full of sharp pieces of broken pottery. “No, on second thought, don’t bother waking me. Maybe I’ll be lucky and die in my sleep.”
4. Without a Heart
“The eminent philosopher Phayallos also maintained that the fairy words meaning ‘god’ and ‘goddess’ were very close to their words for ‘uncle’ and ‘aunt’…”
The child took her hand and placed it against his narrow chest, a gesture Qinnitan knew meant, “I’m frightened.” She pulled him closer, held him as the movement of the Xixian ship rocked them both. “Don’t worry, Pigeon. He won’t hurt you. He only brought you to make sure I don’t dive over the side and try to swim back to Hierosol.”
He gave her a reproachful look: it wasn’t just for himself that he was frightened.
“Truly, we’ll be well,” she said, but they both knew she was lying. Qinnitan lowered her voice to a whisper. “You’ll see—we’ll find a chance to get away before we catch up with the autarch.”
Their cabin door abruptly swung open. The man who had snatched them from the streets of Hierosol stared at them, his eyes and face devoid of expression, as if he were thinking of something else entirely. While disguised as an old woman he had mimed feelings quite convincingly, but now he had thrown that aside as if human nature were only a mask he had been wearing.
“What do you want?” she asked. “Are you afraid we’re going to sneak out the locked door? Climb the mast and step off onto a cloud, perhaps?”
He ignored her as he walked past. He yanked hard at the bars on the window, testing them, then turned to survey the tiny cabin.
“What is your name?” Qinnitan demanded.
His lips twitched. “What does it matter?”
“We will be together on this ship until we reach the autarch and you can be paid your blood money. You certainly know my name, and much more—you must have spent weeks following me, watching everything I did. By the Sacred Hive, you even dressed up like an old woman so you could spy on me! The least you could do is tell me who you are.”
He didn’t respond, and his face remained as expressionless as a dead man’s as he turned and left the cabin, every movement as precise and fluid as those of a temple dancer. She might have almost admired it, but she knew it would be like a mouse admiring the murderous grace of a cat.
She felt something damp on her arm. Pigeon was crying.
“Here, here,” she said. “Shh, lamb. Don’t be afraid. I’ll tell you a story. Do you want to hear a story?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Have you heard the true story of Habbili the Crooked? I know you’ve heard of him—he was the son of the great god Nushash, but when his father was driven into exile, Habbili was treated very badly by Argal and the rest of the demon-gods. For a while it seemed there was no chance he would survive, but in the end he destroyed his enemies and saved his father and even Heaven itself. Do you want to hear about that?”
Pigeon was still sniffling, but she thought she felt him nod.
“Some of it is a little frightening so you have to be brave. Yes? Then I’ll tell you.” And she told him the tale just as her father had taught it to her.
Long, long ago, when horses could still fly and the great red desert of Xand was covered with grass and flowers and trees, the great god Nushash was riding and met Suya the Dawnflower. Her beauty stole his heart. He went to her father Argal the Thunderer, who was his half brother, and asked to marry her. Argal gave permission, but he had a cruel, dishonorable trick in mind, because he and his brothers were jealous of Nushash.
When Nushash had taken Suya away to meet his family, Argal called his brothers Xergal and Efiyal and told them Nushash had stolen his daughter. The brothers then assembled all their servants and warriors and rode to Moontusk, the house of Xosh, brother of Nushash and Lord of the Moon, where Nushash and his new bride were staying.
The war was long and terrible, and during the years it lasted a son was born to Nushash and Suya. His name was Habbili, and he was a brave, beautiful child, the treasure of his parents, wise and kind beyond his years.
Bright Nushash and his kin were defeated at last by the treachery of his half brothers. Suya Dawnflower escaped the destruction of Moontusk, but was lost in the wilderness for many years until Xergal the Lord of the Deep, Argal’s brother, found her and made her his wife.
Xosh the Moonlord was killed in the fighting. Great Nushash was captured, but he was too powerful to destroy, so Argal and the others cut him into many pieces and scattered those pieces over all the lands. But young Habbili, son of Nushash, was tortured by Argal, his own grandfather, and all the rest of that demon clan. They tormented him and lamed him, then at last they cut out his heart and burned it on the fire and left him dead in the ruins of Moontusk.
But a mother serpent came into the ruins looking for a place to lay her egg, and so when she birthed it she hid it in the hole in Habbili’s chest. With the poisoned egg in his chest he came to life once more, consumed with anger and vowing revenge.
“How can you do this to me?” the mother snake said. “I have brought you back to life, but my child is in your breast and cannot hatch. If you go away now to attack your enemies you will have returned evil for good.”
Habbili thought about this and saw that what she said was true. “Very well,” he said. “I will trust you, although my own family has betrayed me more times than I can count. Take back your egg, but go and draw a coal from the fires burning in the rubble and put that in my chest instead.” And Habbili reached into his chest, pulled out the serpent’s egg, and then fell down dead once more.
The mother snake was honorable. She could have left him then, but instead she went and drew a coal from the fire burning in the ruins of the tower and brought it back, although it burned her mouth badly, which is why ever since all snakes have hissed instead of spoken. She placed it in his chest and he came back to life. He thanked her and went on his way, limping so badly from his many injuries that the mortals who met him named him “Crooked.”
For years he wandered and had many adventures and learned many things, but always he thought of the evil done to him by his grandfather and uncles. At last he felt he was ready to resume the sacred feud and to bring his father, Nushash, back to life. But his father’s body had been cut in pieces and scattered up and down the lands of the north and the lands of the south so Habbili had to search long and hard to find them. At last he had recovered all but his father’s head, which was kept in a crystal casket in the house of Xergal, the god of deep places and the dead, whom northerners call Kernios. Habbili went to Xergal’s stronghold and, with the use of charms and spells he had learned, made his way past the guards and into the heart of the house. And as he stole through that dark place, the wife of Xergal came upon him. Crooked did not at first recognize her, but she recognized him—for she was, after all, his mother Suya Dawnflower, whom Xergal had captured and forced into marriage.