At least there was a goodness, a wholesomeness, about Aton. If he could not worship him himself he did not blame others for doing so. Hrangil’s insistence that Azkun was Gilish was only foolish, not repugnant. And now the Vorthenki would cling to him and adore him. It made Menish sick.
One good thing came of it, however. After Menish had watched the other ship unfurl its sails, catch the breeze, and move off southwards he returned to the village. When he entered Darven’s house he found Azkun shouting at his worshippers. It appeared that they had wanted to offer him a sacrifice. A young girl, no more than ten or twelve years old, stood among them in the white sacrificial gown stained with old blood and fennel in her hair. Like Frethi she wore a metal spiral. Frethi held her odd bronze knife. The handle curled about her wrist like a snake.
Menish had heard that the victims of Kopth usually went quietly and a glance at the girl told him why. Her eyes had that dreamy look that is only achieved by too much ale or, more likely, a dose of a concoction commonly used to relieve the pain of wounds.
The Vorthenki were confounded and confused. Azkun stood up on Darven’s throne so that he could speak over their heads.
“Have you heard nothing I have said? You must not kill. Murder begets murder, death begets death. Because you kill, so you must die. That is the price of corruption!”
So he went on while the Vorthenki shifted from foot to foot and hung their heads like errant children. Menish was sure that they did not understand what he meant. Only one thing was plain, the girl was not to be killed. Menish saw relief in Frethi’s eyes.
It was some time before they were finally able to leave. The Vorthenki implored Azkun to stay with them longer. More gifts were offered along with their pleas. Would he not, at least, lie with one or two of their women? For the children of Kopth were especially blessed, as were the women who bore them.
Azkun grew angry at this suggestion and repeated his admonitions not to kill, which no one understood. Confused, some of the women began to display themselves shamelessly before him. He cried to them to stop it, but their men cheered them on, this was surely why Kopth was angry, he thought the women were too reserved.
But they were wrong. Azkun fled from them, flinging away those who tried to cling to him. Menish ran after him, he was pleased enough to leave the disgusting display in the house. He ran out of the palisade and down to the water’s edge, and there Menish caught up with him. The Vorthenki had not followed, they feared that they had angered Kopth, Menish supposed. Only Tenari could be seen walking towards them from the gateway.
“We must leave, we must leave now,” panted Azkun. There was a madness in his eyes. “I cannot remain with… I cannot stay here.”
“I understand, we can leave at once. Wait here, I'll fetch the others.” He turned to Tenari, “Look after him.” But she gave him no indication that she had heard.
Menish quickly summoned the others and told Darven to make sure the women did not follow them down to the beach. The men would be needed to row the lighters. In a way he was pleased with Azkun, he had stopped the Vorthenki sacrifice and he had rejected their women. He seemed genuinely offended by their offers. It was an attitude any Anthorian would sympathise with.
He wondered if Keashil and her son would prefer to stay here. Darven had seen that she had new boots and some better clothes. But he saw her walking across the beach to the lighters holding Althak's arm and obviously ready to depart.
The sailors were delighted to see Azkun again when they boarded their ship. Omoth was not slow in recounting the events of the night before, and he was pleased with the prestige his account gave him with his fellows. It was apparent from their talk that there was no possibility of their ship sinking while Kopth was aboard. They took to addressing him as ‘Lord Kopth’ as Darven had done, and plainly considered him above both Menish and Althak.
Even so Menish gave orders that the other slaves they had rescued from the pirates should go back with the lighters. They were from these northern coasts and they would be useful to Darven. There was no point taking them away south. Althak saw it done and Menish retreated into his sea retch.
No sooner had the sails unfurled than the weather deteriorated. Thunderclouds rolled down from the north east and darkened the sky. The wind rose and began to whip up the waves again. Awan bawled orders to his men from his position in the stern, the sails tightened in the wind, ropes creaked suddenly taut and the ship began to furrow through the waves on its way south.
This time there was no danger, for the storm was not fierce enough to make the monstrous waves that had threatened them before. Shelim explained that this was largely because the wind now blew south along the coast rather than directly from the east and the open sea. Although they saw flashes of lightning far off in the north none of it struck near them. Instead they were drenched with icy squalls that lashed across the decks from time to time making the Anthorians utterly dejected. The sailors did not seem to mind the rain very much, what did it matter that they were cold and wet when Kopth himself rode on their ship?
They were swept before the winds for two days down the long coast of Golshuz. For most of that time they lost sight of the coast entirely, for it curved westwards while they travelled south east. In the middle of the second day Azkun caught sight of high cliffs rising black behind the curtains of rain. They marched back from the west, forming a great wall against which the waves threw themselves in a wild frenzy of foam.
As soon as these were sighted Awan changed course to run parallel with the coast. Azkun felt that the violence of the waves against the cliffs was somehow ominous. The cliffs were like a wall of night through the rain, like a home of spectres, or a cliff wall of a chasm.
Shelim told them that people who lived on these rocky shores lived in caves and he shuddered as he spoke of it, as if they were mad or evil. Azkun could not tell which he meant.
Drinagish was, by now, very ill indeed and so was Hrangil. Menish spoke to Awan about finding a place for them to rest the night on land.
A few hours later as night was falling they came to a break in the cliffs. The shore curled back into a rocky bay where the sea was sheltered from the wind. Awan steered them towards a rubble-strewn beach of black sand and black boulders. Beyond it, through the rain, Azkun could see buildings similar to those in Deenar, but without the palisade. As they drew closer he noticed that the beach was not strewn with rubble as he had thought, it was crowded with people.
“Kopth, Kopth, Kopth!”
He had thought it was the pounding of the surf, but now he could hear them chanting on the beach. There must be hundreds! Surely they did not live in those few houses he could see on the beach.
“Kopth, Kopth, Kopth!”
He could feel their earnest expectancy in his mind, their chanting thrummed in his brain, calling to him. How intensely they believed! He ran to the prow and leaned towards them. Their yearning for him touched him with its misguidedness. He wanted to go to them, to tell them that he was only the bridge. It was for the dragons they should yearn.
Even as he reached the prow he was aware of a fuzzy, clouded mind on the beach. He had seen this before. He had seen it at Deenar. There was a victim on the beach, a victim waiting death. He could feel the inner despair of the priestess, a bronze knife in her hand, waiting to do what she had to do. He knew that the moment he stepped ashore the sacrifice would be made.
“They've heard of you already. The other boat that left Deenar before us would have stopped here.” It was Althak. He stood beside him. “They must have summoned the whole countryside to meet you.”