Part 6: Gods and Lions

Aaron and the crocodile-man reached a tall hill and looked down upon Last Town. It was a pitiful place protected by a wooden palisade. Small houses surrounded it, unlit and quiet, the homes of tenant farmers who worked the scraggly pastures nearby. Even in the darkness, there was an air of sorrow and desperation about the place. The people may have been cruel to the wild people, but they suffered terribly under the yoke of Lord Kaliss.

"Murderers," Krace the crocodile-man said. "I'd like to eat every one of them. But really, I just want to eat. Let's move, find some lost quickdeer or something." He picked his teeth with one long claw.

"And the Great Lion, right?" Aaron asked.

"Huh? Oh, right. Though really, I'd prefer just to rip 'em all apart myself."

"But you said we can't," Aaron said. "There are too many."

"I know, I know," Krace said glumly, and set out toward the horizon. Aaron followed, staring up at the crocodile-man, the akhet. Though Krace had done him no harm, some primitive part of Aaron's brain screamed every moment he spent with the creature. They traveled late into the night, Aaron tense and hungry, frightened like an animal would be frightened, Krace walking slowly, his tail swishing, until the temperature fell and he could travel no more.

They awoke to cries of battle. It was dawn, the air still cool and dry. Aaron jumped to his feet before he was fully conscious, dragging his curved bronze sword from its loop. The air was dusty and he could see little except the massive form of the akhet, still asleep. He raced around a copse of dry trees and saw the tail-end of a battle: Vahcha men armed with bows and spears had ambushed scouts from Last Town. One survivor ran for his life, his horse already dead, but an arrow took him in the back and he fell with a clatter of armor.

One of the Vahcha men had died, but six remained, tense and weary. Aaron tried to hide but one of them noticed him and raised the alarm. The others raised their bows.

"I mean no harm," Aaron shouted, hoping they understood Low Quist. He gripped his sword and looked around for Krace, but the akhet was probably cold-blooded and sluggish this early.

"Toss swords out and walk into open," shouted one of the Vahcha men in a thick accent. Aaron gritted his teeth, tossed his weapon away, and stepped out to face a half-dozen armed warriors.

"I'm not with Lord Kaliss," Aaron said hastily. "I'm not from Last Town."

The leader, a cruel-looking man with an "X" scar across one cheek, spoke a few words in an unfamiliar language. A smaller man translated.

"Anyone else with you?" he asked.

Aaron weighed the possibilities and decided on honesty. "Yes. I'm traveling with an akhet named Krace. Together we escaped Lord Kaliss' dungeons."

The smaller warrior repeated what Aaron had said, and a murmur went through the group. To his relief, Aaron noticed the arrow-points drop slightly.

"What brought you?" the translator said.

"I was with a merchant caravan," the boy said. No reason to offer the whole truth. "Bandits."

There was a murmur of understanding. The translator spoke for a time with the group, who had lowered their weapons. Things seemed to go well until the apparent leader--the man with the X-scar--started to argue. Aaron watched, hoping for Krace to wake up, as the argument escalated. It came to blows: X (as Aaron had started to call him in his mind) slugged the translator, who collapsed in a heap. The others tensed, but did nothing to stop X as he kicked the translator in the ribs, waving a curved steel knife. X shouted orders and the wild men moved toward Aaron.

The boy ran for his sword, but it was already too far away: the warriors surrounded him, clubs and spears raised, and Aaron froze and raised his hands. They bound him quickly, then X ordered a search. A few minutes later, the wild men (one man short) dragged Krace from his hiding place. He was still sluggish, but he bellowed with rage and struggled against the ropes that held him. Still, when he pulled they only tightened, and Aaron knew there would be no escape.

Dragged behind the warriors, they reached the village of the Vahcha people by midday. Hidden by brambles and jutting rocks, it seemed to materialize before Aaron. He was tossed without ceremony into a pit with neither sustenance nor companionship, guarded by a surly warrior who stared down at him with contempt. Some time near evening the guards rotated and the new one tossed a water bladder and some tubers down to Aaron, who ate frantically, having missed breakfast.

Aaron sat and thought. He needed to reach Lord Ruby. He needed to find Olivia. He needed to free Azha the mirix from Lord Kaliss' clutches. And he needed to get out of this damn pit. All thoughts of aiding the wild men had fled him, though he still owed something to Krace... if he was still alive.

Others had fallen before him into this pit. They had not been taken out: their tattered clothes clung to their bodies, powder blue cloaks that Aaron recognized as belonging to Kaliss' men. Did the Vahcha people think he was one of those killers? Aaron rummaged among the fresh corpses, trying to keep his food down. They had been stripped of weapons and valuable, but they still had their heavy capes. And one had been left with the hilt of his sword, though the blade had broken. Aaron glanced up at the guard, then set to work.

After an hour of labor, the month he had spent in Boy Scouts paid off, and he had a rope made of the capes. At the tip of one rope was the broken hilt. Aaron stood up, preparing his toss. It would have to be perfect. He swung wide, then tossed his makeshift grappling hook toward the guard above him. It caught on his shoulder. The guard yelped and the grapple fell back into the pit, and Aaron cursed, but he had thrown the guard off-balance: the man staggered, then fell into the pit with a cry, landing badly. Aaron was on him in a second, slamming the hilt of the sword into the bridge of the man's nose. In a moment it was over. Aaron took the man's bronze axe and after a second toss of his grapple, clambered out of the pit.

He blinked at the glare that confronted him: a bonfire roared no more than thirty paces away, eclipsed by the tall bodies of warriors. Aaron inched forward, compelled to witness whatever savage spectacle transpired near the fire.

Two men stood in the middle of the circle. One was old but not yet frail, with thick muscles and keen, hard eyes. His face was set, but not hateful, and he held a spear in a defensive position. The other was X, his face twisted in a mask of fury. He spun his spear about his head, then suddenly lunged, holding the weapon one-handed so it shot its full seven feet forward, like a striking serpent. The older man parried, but X moved effortlessly into his next series of attacks, wielding the spear like a great two-handed sword, both hands at its base, trying to open his opponent's throat. But his foe was wary, and when X reached too far, he sidestepped and attacked, stepping forward to close distance, using short, deadly jabs that forced X back toward the bonfire.

As the battle raged, people cheered. Men held spears and clubs, clutching shapely women with dusky skin and dark, wavy hair. They wore grass skirts, their breasts concealed by ivory and lapis lazuli necklaces.

Aaron pulled himself away from the ritual duel. He needed to find Krace and escape. The village consisted of several communal huts, some circular, some rectangular, all apparently temporary: these were a nomadic people, following the wildebeast and great flightless birds that roamed the savanna. But where would they keep a draconic gourmand?

Aaron darted into the shadows when he heard the soft pad of feet on dirt. Two warriors were approaching, talking quietly among themselves. Aaron ducked into a hut, his hand tight on his axe.

He knew he had made a wrong turn instantly: a great cauldron bubbled in the center of the room, filling the air with sweet spices and the smell of wood-smoke. The dim firelight caught a figure, female but otherwise hidden in shadow. Aaron turned to leave, but the warriors walked past the door. Instead the boy retreated into a hidden corner of the hut.

The girl stepped into the fireflight, her face illuminated by the flames. She was pretty--beautiful, in fact--with a sweet, round face, dusky skin and large brown eyes. Like the other women in the village, her hair was wavy, very dark brown or black, and pulled back from her face.

Aaron's heart pounded as he hid from the guards, who stood outside of the hut, talking in a language he did not know. Aaron had his axe, but even with the element of surprise, he could not be sure he could overcome them with an unfamiliar weapon. And besides, even the harshness of this new world had not turned the boy into a callous killer. Instead, he slipped deeper into the room, keeping his eyes on the girl.

She wore a bright shift that left her graceful arms and legs bare. It would have been tacky in any other environment--a garish, clashing, Hawaiian shirt-analogue--but in the firelit hut, with the contents of the cauldron glowing unnaturally, it seemed primal and frightening, and Aaron found himself staring as the girl worked her strange magic.

Her shirt, Aaron saw, was woven from flowers, and more flowers grew at the far side of the hut, forming a beautiful tableaux on the wall. Aaron wondered for a second if the flowers were a sort of mosaic--he saw shadows of animals and men--but it was only the flicker of the fire. The girl continued her work and Aaron watched, wondering what to do. The guards still shuffled outside. He was exhausted and hungry. He needed to find Krace. Perhaps the girl could help? Not all the wild people were cruel. Aaron edged forward, weighing his chances. He cleared his mind: calculate. Concentrate. He had survived worse.

The girl looked up, and whether Aaron had stepped for a moment into the light or if the girl's eyes could pierce the shadows, but her dark eyes seemed to pin him to the wall. She opened her mouth to cry out and Aaron reacted, clearing the distance between them in a heartbeat and clamping his hand over her mouth. She stiffened in fear, then reached for a knife on a nearby altar. Aaron dropped his axe into the packed earth, twisted her hand behind her back and held her, his back against the cauldron, the heat of the fire warming his heels.

"I don't want to hurt you," Aaron said. "Do you understand me?"

The girl nodded. She was trembling. She smelled like strange spices. Aaron carefully removed his hand from her mouth, but remained ready to strike.

"You were... captured," the girl said in Low Quist, her accent thick. "N'ze' brought you back."

"N'..." He could not pronounce the name. The sounds were alien to English, Spanish, and Low Quist, a series of clicks and whistles interspersed with consonants and soft hums.

"N'ze'," the girl repeated. "of the Elevated. He plans to rule our people, and destroy the wall people. Please, do not harm me."

"I promised I wouldn't," Aaron said. "But I won't go back to that pit." He tightened his grip for a moment, making himself clear, and the girl shuddered. Aaron continued. "The lord of Last Town is vicious enough, but the wild people seem just as cruel."

"We are not 'wild' people," the girl said, spinning around and slipping from Aaron's grip. He did not grab her again, and she made no moves to run. "We are the U'hd, the last of the tribe of Hi''e. Kaliss' line and other servants of Uxulan have wiped us out. We are shadows. Soon we will be the barbarians people believe us to be."

"I... didn't know," Aaron said. He paused, then nodded. "We have something in common. I would like to see Kaliss kicked over. I have an... obligation." He thought of Azha, imprisoned by the foul man. "And with him gone--"

"Maybe my people will not become savages," the girl said. "But what can I do? I am the x'sh'i of my tribe and--"

"The... ?"

"The... witch? The shaman, I think. But not yet, not fully. I am still training. I know things and see things, but I cannot change history."

"Maybe I can," Aaron said. "Can you find the Great Lion?"

The girl flinched. "I could not," she said. "I cannot..."

"Why not? My companion says the Great Lion could stop Kaliss."

The witch-girl's brows furrowed in concentration. She was, Aaron noticed again, surprisingly pretty, with a magnificent figure barely concealed by her flower dress. "The Great Lion," she said, pulling Aaron's gaze up from her full breasts, "is very dangerous. He could destroy Last Town, but he could destroy much more, too. But why do you care?"

Aaron picked up the axe, drawing a troubled glance from the girl. "Kaliss has enslaved someone who saved my life. Also, I owe it to my companion, Krace the akhet." Aaron wondered for a moment if he should just abandon his fool's quest and make a break north. Perhaps that was what his wizard companion, Turvis, would want. But then he saw the girl's eyes, shining with admiration.

"What's your name?" Aaron asked.

"Ch'h'ki," Ch'h'ki said, uselessly. Aaron blinked. "Oh, but wait, that means something. A type of cloud. 'Cirrus!' You can call me Cirrus."

"Alright, Cirrus," Aaron said. A great shout came from outside the hut and Aaron fought the urge to flinch. "Can you help me?"

"I can," Cirrus said.

"I was told I would need to find the... 'Lion Girl, '" Aaron said.

"Only if you did not have a x'sh'i with you," Cirrus said with a playful smile.

"So what do we do?" Aaron asked. He glanced back toward the door: the shouts had become sounds much like celebration.

"Hurry," Cirrus said. "Either N'ze' has killed H' or he has died in the attempt, and either way, our politics will grow muddled for a time. I can show you the way to the Great Lion. I just need--" She started gathering ingredients: strange herbs in ceramic jars, or wrapped in bundles. Then she stopped.

"What is it?" Aaron said. He couldn't keep his hand away from his sword hilt.

"The last ingredient. I'll need..." She glanced at Aaron and her round cheeks colored. "Never mind. I have what I need. Follow me. My people will not follow me to the Bleak Hill."

They slipped out a hidden side exit and made their way through the village. A guard ordered them to halt, but Aaron disappeared behind a fallen stone while Cirrus engaged in hasty negotiations (or threats). At last the man retreated, his hand raised in a sign of mystic warding, and they raced up a hill just out of the village's sight.

There was another cauldron there, old and stained, and Cirrus lit a fire. She tossed the ingredients in, one by one, until they formed a sweet-smelling froth. As she worked, she talked about her society and her life. Aaron quickly grew fond of Cirrus, who displayed an awareness of the world not at all in keeping with her savage environment.

"I'm a shaman, after all," she said. "I see in my mind's eye more than most people see traveling the world. I have to, or I'd go mad here." She tossed a bundle of roots into the cauldron.

"Mad?" Aaron asked. "It doesn't seem so bad." Cirrus had given him the task of cutting up certain roots, which he did with an uncharacteristically sharp and well-made steel knife.

"There is so little here," Cirrus said. "We keep moving to hide from Lord Kaliss. I keep us hidden, but my people hate and fear me. I cannot join the celebrations. I cannot walk outside without people whispering." Cirrus sighed, her hand poised over the cauldron.

"What?" Aaron asked. He had tossed the roots into the cauldron and waited for more instructions.

Cirrus shifted. "The... um... last ingredient. To, um, find the Lion God. You see, he is a powerful, um, male presence, and, um, sympathetic magic and all..."

"What?" Aaron had lost the thread of her discussion.

"I need--Well, you need to..." Cirrus colored profoundly, not quite meeting Aaron's gaze. "I don't know the word. What comes from your..." She gestured vaguely toward Aaron's lower anatomy.

The boy's eyes lit up. "Oh. OH! You need me to--" Cirrus nodded. "In the--" She nodded again. "Could I, um, have a bit of privacy, then?"

"Oh, of course!" Cirrus skittered down the hill and sat behind a tree. "You can, um... Tell me when you're done, and I'll, um, we'll finish the ritual to find the Lion God." She fell silent.