Above, the falcon wheeled through the sky, waiting, crying out for more blood.
17
Karim
Karim sat on the riverbank, eating bits of bread and fish and holding a speared onion over the fire he’d built for the night. He chewed each piece slowly, trying to make them last as long as he could. Behkai watched him, rigid with concentration, a long, pendulous string of drool suspended from his mouth.
Karim tried to ignore the dog, focusing instead on the flames blackening the onion skin, releasing a savory smell into the air.
Behkai let out a high, piteous whine.
“Fine! Fine!” Karim tossed him a piece of bread and a hefty chunk of fish. Behkai swallowed them without chewing, then looked back at him, hopeful for more.
“That’s all you’re getting. This food has to last us until we get to the city, and we’ve already gone through more than half of it. If you’re still hungry, go catch a rat.”
Behkai cocked his head, like he was offended by the suggestion. Snuffling, he turned around three times and curled into a tight black circle of fur by the fireside.
Karim sighed, then noticed his onion was on fire. Cursing, he quickly pulled it from the flames and blew it out. Luckily, it still looked edible, so he waited until it stopped smoldering and took a bite. The burnt skin was crispy, and the hot, savory juices inside burst in his mouth.Not bad at all.As he ate, he thought about the farm girl who had given him the food. There was something about her that stayed with him, something more than her act of kindness and the boldness of her manner. He felt as if he was always supposed to meet her on that riverbank, that it was a passage in astory already written long ago.
Karim swallowed the last bit of onion and threw the skewer into the fire. He was still having trouble reconciling his involvement in the ancient Khetaran oracle with his own spiritual beliefs. The Anen, like most of the other tribes of the Red Lands, had neither the time nor the patience for a host of fickle gods and their ill portents.
They had one god. A creator and a destroyer, both—a god of all. Any more seemed unnecessary.
The same god who protected his flock one day might slaughter it the next, just as the shepherds in his tribe might do. And as the sheep couldn’t possibly understand the reason for their fate, man couldn’t hope to understand his either. In this way, the tribes accepted the harshness of life, while celebrating blessings when they came. They knew that in the end, fate rendered its will upon you, regardless of whether you deserved it or not.
In comparison, the Khetarans’ faith seemed complicated to the point of absurdity. But if their gods were false, then how had the Oracle of the Lamb come to be? The whole situation had thrown his thoughts into disarray. How was he to know what to believe? The image of the creature standing on the riverbank was never far from his mind, though the farther they drifted from that temple in the desert, the harder it was for Karim to believe that it all had really happened.
He’d initially embarked on the voyage to Thonis because of his promise to Pa. But the closer he got to the city, the more he wanted answers for himself too.
Having finished his meal, Karim sat back and brushed the crumbs from his hands. He’d been doing a lot of thinking during those days floating down the river. Traveling on the skiff made him realize that in all his life, he’d never really been alone before. Back with the Anen, he’d always been around other men or his family—and later, with the Jackals. Other than the occasionalsolitary hunting expedition, there’d always been another voice in his ear. But on the river, there was nothing. Nothing but the sound of water rolling over rocks, and the urgent cries of ibis flying overhead. Other boats would often pass them by, but aside from a few polite greetings, no one stopped to talk.
When the solitude got to be too much, or when he couldn’t sleep for fear of what waited in dreams, Karim had gotten in the habit of talking to the dog. He’d talk about the weather, tell stories about his time with the Jackals, and point out interesting landmarks he saw on the way.
Behkai turned out to be quite a pleasant traveling companion. When Karim wanted quiet, Behkai either slept, cleaned himself, or stared down at the water, transfixed by the creatures he saw below. When Karim wanted to talk, Behkai sat very still and listened, his big black head cocked in a show of intense interest.
They saw many wonders along the river. White pyramids topped with gold, vast columned temples bright with color, and enormous stone kings, carved straight from the mountains, as if a thousand artists had chipped away the rock until the man inside was freed. Karim had little love for the Khetarans, but he was awestruck by the sight of their handiwork.
It was mostly at night, when darkness threw a shroud over those wonders, that bitterness set in. What had the Khetarans done to deserve a river that offered unending bounty and asked nothing in return? What earned them the gift of greatness?
Is this what it looked like—the other side of destiny? Would the Khetarans’ good fortune really last forever? His cynical side—the side that was always waiting for the next raid, the next pestilence, the next unexpected catastrophe—told him no. Nothing lasts forever. No matter how tall their monuments or how beautiful their tombs, fate, Karim knew, would come for them all.
***
Behkai was growling.
Karim’s eyes fluttered open, having nearly slipped into a doze. The fire had burned down to embers, and only glowed enough to light a small circle around them. He glanced over at the dog, who’d gotten up and was standing at attention, growling deep in his throat at something in the darkness. Karim sat up at once, scooping some of the embers into his torch until a steady flame rose from it. Then Karim was at Behkai’s side, squinting in the direction of the dog’s gaze.
Probably a snake—or a jackal, he thought mildly, but the wild beating of his heart betrayed him. He swung the torch slowly from left to right, illuminating a boulder, a cluster of thorny shrubs, the jagged remains of a tamarisk tree sticking out from the ground like a broken tooth, and—
Something moved.
He scrabbled at his waist, feeling for the knife in his belt. He found it and pulled it free, holding the blade out in front of him. It trembled.
No, it’s not possible. He’d traveled so far… farther than any man from his tribe had ever gone, and the river was swift.
A hint of sweat appeared on his brow. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself not to imagine the creature whose image had been burned into his mind that night at Pa’s temple, the creature he seemed to see in every shadow.
Karim cursed himself for allowing his fear to take control.
