The City of Midnights

The ancient city of Shendim dreamed beside the waters of the Nahar, the land around it a jewel of green in the expanses of the desert beyond. The high cliffs that rose on the western bank of the river glowed red in the sunset as though fresh from a fire, while the sky turned an endless blue studded with a thousand thousand stars. Eagles and carrion birds screamed in the dusk, and cranes stalked in the shallow waters among the reeds.

Down by the riverside, the city was built of white buildings that glowed day and night, their windows billowing with white silk curtains and hung with vines laden with flowers. The scent of the river was ever close, masked by incense and the smell of candles. The city was a maze of winding streets, stairways, tunnels and canals lit by hanging lanterns and haunted by the hum of dragonflies.

The white palace rose on a rocky promontory beside the water, above the city so its towers could be seen in every quarter. Each tower and wall glowed with dozens of lights, so that the palace itself seemed unreal, like something made by the gods themselves to float over the city, as if it were made of clouds. The white stone gleamed in the starlight, and those who passed near could hear music drifting from colonnade and garden path.

Queen Malika held her audiences at sunset, when the heat of the day began to dissipate and gentle breezes blew up from the river, rich with the smells of flowers and crocodile dung. She sat on her ivory-inlaid throne, an arch made from the tusks of elephants framing her. She wore white and was resplendent in golden jewelry studded with emeralds. Slaves kept their place to either side of her, fanning her with wide palm-fronds.

Water rilled down the fountain at the center of the audience chamber, and the courtiers gathered to speak to her and hear her judgments, to make alliances and agreements, and to aid in the functioning of the kingdom of Meru. Here in the southern uplands they were far from the intrigues of the Ashemu court, and from the ambition of the war-lords of Kadesh. Meru was at peace, and its young queen wished for it to remain so.

This evening she was watching several of her more prominent courtiers as they murmured amongst themselves and cast glances at her when they thought she would not see. She was becoming annoyed with them. Two of them were landholders with vast estates, and the third was one of her most well-born generals, the son of a famous general who had diligently placed his son in position to succeed him. Malika was beginning to regret that allowance.

“My Lord Zaban,” she said, her tone slightly brittle. “Your discussions seem most animated. Would you share them?”

Zaban was not very much older than she. He was tall and dark-skinned and handsome, and she knew many ladies of the court had dallied with him and hoped to make alliance though marriage. He turned to look at her and bowed as he should, yet she saw the flicker in his eyes just before he masked it. There was something hard and predatory in his glance, and she disliked it.

“My queen, we simply discuss the waterways on the border with Ashemu. Water is always something to consider in this season.” He was well-spoken, and his accent was cultured. She would have thought he was royal born had she not known better. “It is not a matter of great consequence – there is always some trouble with the Ashemi border lands this time of year as the river channels begin to dry up.”

“And how does that concern my most prominent general?” she said. She did not call him her best general, because he had, after all, not been proven in battle. She watched him closely, wondering what self-aggrandizing game he played this time.

“Well, if the Ashemi send troops to demonstrate upon the border, then it would be well to have our own forces on hand to stand ready. Do you agree?” He smiled at her, white teeth and flashing amber eyes. He could be very charming when he wished it so.

“I believe I will decide when our soldiers should stand opposed to those of our neighbors,” she said. “You would bring us to war simply to save face.” She also did not doubt that the landowners had offered him payment to keep their water supplies secured through the dry season.

A flicker of annoyance passed over Zaban’s face, but only for a moment. “Of course. I intend a demonstration only. Our presence would deter any thoughtless measures on the part of the Ashemi.”

“I forbid it,” she said. “Send scouts to observe only. If there is trouble, I will pursue diplomatic solutions. Only that.” She stood, and all the assemble courtiers bowed and made their proper obeisances. Zaban followed them after the barest hesitation. “Remember that I rule here,” she said. “I alone.” She turned and left the chamber, music and the smoke of incense swirling in her wake.

o0o

Night folded itself about the city, creeping darkness through waterways and hallowed halls, into the temples of Uannan and Hadad and Slud. The palace lay silent and yet still alight with candles and lanterns, the black stone of the floors reflecting the flames like cold blue fires that flickered in the summer heat. There were sounds of water fountains, the thrum of insects, and the soft chants of priests as they said their prayers in the shadows.

Malika lay in her silken bed and did not sleep. She sat up amid her smooth white sheets in a pool of moonlight and listened to the sounds of the night all around her. The palace had its own sounds, its own patterns, and she knew them well. She had only been queen for a year, but she had dwelled in this place all her life. She knew every small sound of the midnight hours, and tonight she heard those that were strange to her.

There was a nightingale that did not sing as it always did. The sounds of the fountain were more distant, as though something muffled them, and the crickets fell silent when no one should have been near. Someone was in the palace, moving in the secret places, and she wondered what it meant. She did not fear, for she did not believe anyone would come to do her harm, but someone walked the halls of her palace, unknown to her.

She rose from her bed, wrapping the sheets around her naked form, and she padded to her balcony and stood in shadow, looking out over her gardens. It was so still she could have heard the step of a mouse beneath the flowers. Looking down toward the fountain, she saw a shadow there, and it seemed to beckon her.

Still, she did not feel fear. On bare feet she slipped down the polished marble stair and made her way across the soft grass. The shadow sat on the edge of the fountain, not moving, but clearly not an illusion. She stopped and looked, trying to see what manner of person it was, but then it extended a hand and beckoned again, and she felt a strange pull, drawing her closer.

When she stood there beside the silver fountain she saw at once that it was a woman, a girl not much older than she herself. She had dusky skin and her eyes were rimmed with black paint in the manner of the desert people. She was dressed all in black, with a hood drawn up over her head, and her hair snaking down in thick braids laced with copper.

“Who are you?” Malika said. “Who are you that trespasses upon my garden in the night? Are you spirit?”

“I am flesh,” the woman said. “I am no more spirit than you. But I have come as commanded to warn you. Your life will end this night unless you escape with me.”

“Escape?” Malika was stunned. “That is foolish, where would I go? I am queen here, and I will remain queen. There is no danger to me here.”

The woman gestured, and Malika followed her hand to look upward to her bedchamber. She realized that the guard who was meant to be on her balcony was not there, and as she looked, she saw lanterns moving inside her rooms, heard voices upraised.

“Even now assassins move against you. I am your only hope to escape your fate this night,” the woman said. She held up her hand and there was a polished black stone in her palm. “Take this and hold it close to you. It will guard you from the eyes of those who would seek you, but it will not last forever. Take it and flee into the city, and once you are there, you must reach the edge of the desert on your own.”

“The desert?” Malika took the stone and felt her head swim with the unreality of it all. She was dreaming, surely, and would wake in a moment. “I cannot go to the desert.”

“I will meet you there. When you stand upon the open sands, call for Shedjia, and I will come to you. I shall save you, and bring you to my master, who will be your ally.” The woman stood, and she seemed to fade away into the air. “Go quickly, before the dawn.”

o0o

Malika stood there for a long moment, wondering if she had dreamed, and walked in her dreaming. She looked at the smooth stone in her hand and almost cast it aside, and then she looked up at the sound of voices, saw General Zaban on her balcony with his soldiers beside him. He held a naked sword in his hand, and his expression was angry.

“Search the gardens and the grounds,” he said. “She cannot have gone very far. Find her and drag her back here, but do not kill her. I will do that myself.”

She felt her heart speed, and her belly clenched as though she might become ill. She covered her mouth and felt fear wash over her. Zaban looked down into the garden, and she remembered she wore only a white silken sheet. In the starlight she would glow like a phantom, and yet he did not seem to see her at all. She felt the stone in her hand and clutched it tightly. The desert, she had to reach the edge of the desert before dawn.

Softly, sure she would be discovered at any moment, Malika began to slip through the garden. She moved like a ghost in among the flowers and the hanging vines until she could step out of the moonlight and into the halls of the palace that had always been her home. She heard voices and the tromp of heavy feet, saw lanterns moving here and there as men searched for her. It seemed as if every shadow had become filled with knives, and she felt herself waver. It would be easier by far to simply cast away the stone and let them take her.

Malika was a daughter of kings and queens, and she recovered herself. Whatever might come, she would not simply allow Zaban to end her dynasty with his sword. The stone in her hand spoke of someone who was not her enemy, and she would find them, even if she must cross over into the land of savages and beasts.

She moved through the palace, breathing swift, feeling the hair on her neck prickle when she passed guards who seemed to look right through her. She saw her own shadow cast on the polished floors and gilded walls, and she prayed to the gods that she might reach the gates and escape into the night. She heard the herons cry over the river, and she was so very afraid.

o0o

She ran, feeling shadows close in around her. The stone grew warm in her hand, and then it was hot, like a coal against her palm, and she carried it as long as she could stand to. Through the palace to where guards stood beside the watch fires at the high gate, and she could feel the seeming tatter around her, and she knew without having to wonder that the power that hid her from sight was weakening.

She huddled in a shadow and looked across the courtyard, breathing swift and feeling her breath burn in her throat. How had this come to be? She was queen, and now she was fleeing all but naked from her own palace, pursued by a murderous general and seeking succor from a shadow.

A horse nickered close to hand and she turned, startled. The stables for the mounted guards were close to the gate, and she saw the white faces of the silvery horses looking out into the dark. They sniffed, and she knew they smelled her, even if she was hidden from their eyes.

Quick, she slipped closer and cast aside the stone, shivering in the night breeze. She went to the first stall and touched one horse’s velvet muzzle, let it smell her breath, and then she crept in the stall door and quickly climbed onto the mare’s smooth back. No chance for saddle or bit, she wound the sheet closer around her body and twined her fingers in the white mane.

A whisper and the horse burst from the stable in a flash of white turned silver in the blaze of the moon. Guards shouted and leaped aside as she rushed the gate, holding on for her life as her steed scattered the sentinels and raced down the long causeway from the palace down toward the tangled warrens of the city.

Malika had never ridden like this, and she clung fiercely with hands and legs as the horse galloped into the dark streets. She rode beneath silken canopies and sent jugglers and dancers leaping aside as she flashed through plazas and night markets. She heard shouts and cries, and then the screams of horses. When she looked back, she saw torches blazing in the dark, and she knew her pursuers were close behind.

She did not know her way, as she had never been in the city like this, without escort or entourage. She held on and kept her head down and let her horse go where she wished. The darkness flew by, and she closed her eyes and prayed to all the gods for the night to end, for there to be mercy, and then peace.

Something hissed past her face and she almost fell in surprise. She heard it again, and then an arrow struck the wall beside her and embedded itself in the plaster. Malika cried out, feeling terror knot her throat like a noose as more arrows fell around her, so close she could feel the wind from some of them as they passed.

Her horse stumbled and began to slow, and she looked back to see two arrows embedded in its haunches. She cried out, feeling despair wash over her. Now she could not possibly escape. Now she would be caught and killed, and she would never know why, would never have justice. Behind her she heard the cries as the pursuers forced their way through the crowds, scattering people in their wake.

Malika showed her teeth and wrenched her failing steed into a tight turn, galloping down a narrow alley, and when she had a moment when she was out of sight of those who followed, she reached out and caught the rope that held up a canopy and gripped it tightly, let the motion of the horse drag her off its back, and then she swung free and landed hard on the stone of the road, her breath knocked out of her.

She tried to breathe and couldn’t, then tried again and managed a weak inhalation. She turned over and crawled out of the road into a doorway, and she huddled down and covered herself with the sheet that was her only clothing. It was smudged now with dirt and stains, and she hid beneath it, struggling to catch her breath as she heard her horse gallop away.

It was a heartbeat before she heard more horses, and then the party of pursuers raced past her, not even sparing a glance down at her as they followed the flashing white of her horse. She heard the thrum of bowstrings and the clangor of armor, and then they were past. Slowly, she got to her feet, feeling weariness and terror trembling in every limb, and then she hurried onward into the night.

o0o

Malika staggered barefooted out among the fig tree groves and grape arbors under the shining moon. She was nearly at the end of her strength, and she felt she could not go on. She strayed off the road, pushing her way across the irrigation ditches and the reed fences to make her way up from the river bottom, for there she would find the place where the land became desert, and there she had a hope of freedom.

If she looked, she could see torches moving here and there outside the city as those who hunted for her searched through the dark. She splashed through a water trough and then she heard a cry. Torch-flames gathered and came toward her, and she felt fear lend her a last burst of strength. She ran, heedless of what was in her path, heedless of anything save the need to escape.

Horsemen rode past her in the dark, and she turned, seeing them close in around her. One struck her with the haft of a spear and knocked her to the ground, and she cried out in pain and at the sharp, unbearable humiliation of it. She staggered up, and for the first time she felt anger.

Another man rode close, reaching down to catch her, and she seized his arm and pulled him from the saddle, catching him off-guard. He fell hard to the earth, and she caught at the sword hilt on his belt and drew the iron blade flashing into the starlight. She staggered away from him as another man rode close and she slashed at the hand that reached for her, cutting it open and spilling blood on the ground. It smelled like copper in the cold air.

They circled her, a dozen men, and even her flash of rage could not keep back the knowledge that she was finished. They would drag her down and carry her away, back to Zaban, and she would be slain. Perhaps all she could do was deny him that. She looked at the sword in her hand and wondered if she had the will to use it so. If she could fall upon it and end her own life. She gripped it in both hands and stepped back, and her feet sank into the sandy earth.

She looked down. The edge of the desert. Perhaps it was enough. She had nothing to lose in this moment, regardless. “Shedjia!” she cried, feeling foolish. “I am here!”

A wind sprang up, and dust began to blow across the ground even as the nearby groves of trees shook and rattled their branches. Clouds crossed over the moon, and the starlight seemed to turn dark, as though it shone with a violet radiance.

She heard horses, and then men came riding from the dark. They were wrapped in black cloaks and carried sickle-bladed swords. Arrows sang and then there was the sudden clash of iron as the guards were cut down. Malika reeled back, holding up her sword as if it were a talisman against the sudden screams and the spray of blood. She watched as the new riders cut through the guards, slashing off arms, cutting throats in bright geysers of red. Horses screamed and plunged, and the men who had been hunting her lay dead upon the soil.

“I am here as well,” Shedjia said, emerging from the darkness, and Malika almost cried out in her surprise. She looked at the other woman, and she was overcome with a mix of gratitude and rage.

“You left me for them,” she said, her voice shaking. “You could have spirited me from the city, carried me away, but instead you left me to die.”

“But you did not die,” Shedjia said. “You have proven yourself, and now your return to the throne will begin.” She held out a hand. “Come.”

“Where?” Malika said, looking at the riders as they gathered around. She clutched her sheet around herself, keenly aware of her nakedness.

“You will see my master, and all will be made plain,” Shedjia said. “Come.”

o0o

They rode into the desert under the endless sky, stars like ten thousand diamonds above. Malika was exhausted and cold and frightened and angry, but she had nowhere else to go. The riders with her were silent, and did not look at her, much less speak to her. She knew they were nomads of the wastelands, and she did not know their speech or their gods.

They rode to a valley beneath the cliffs and there she saw a camp of hundreds of tents lit by hundreds of fires. Here was gathered an army, or more a nation, for she saw women and small children, herds of goats and pack camels. How had so many come to camp so close to her city, and she had never heard a whisper of it?

Shedjia took her to a cavern, and there she found a hot spring and was able to wash herself of the dust and sand of travel. Clothes were brought, and she garbed herself in the blue robes of a desert woman, combed her dark hair and braided it herself, as no servants were brought for her.

The shadow girl led her to a great rift in the cliffside, and here she found fallen idols of another age, their features worn away by wind and sand. Here was a fire that lit the rock like molten iron, and here she found a throne, and on the throne a form all of darkness. She looked on the shape there, a man without face or feature, and she was afraid.

“Come forward,” he said, beckoning her, and she walked to him on unsteady legs. She did not know who he was, but she felt a great power there, close to her, and she bowed her head as she might have in a temple.

“I am glad you are here,” he said. His accent was heavy and made him sound as though he were ancient, like the texts the priests read from that had been written down before the rise of the kingdoms of men. “It pleases me to greet you, Queen of Meru. You have put your faith in me, and it shall not go unrewarded.”

“Who are you?” she said. “I give my faith to no man.”

The shadows drew away and she saw him then, his pale face and dark eyes. He stood, and she saw how he towered over other men, and she felt a fear in her, for she had seen the inscriptions and the carvings of the old gods, how they towered over mortals.

“I am Utuzan,” he said. “I am the Black Flame of Anatu risen again from my long sleep of death. I come seeking conquest, and a throne.” He beckoned her. “I have an army, and soon I shall use it to place you back upon the throne of your fathers. Meru shall be the first jewel in my crown.”

She came closer to him, unable to resist his wish. She looked into his eyes and it was as if she were falling into a deep that had no end to it. He touched her face and she shivered. She felt the power that was in him and she knew he did not lie. She knew he was the devil out of the most ancient tales, and even as he heart beat in fear she thought of Zaban and she almost laughed. He would pay for what he had done. The fire leaped high and jackals howled in the night, and as the moon went down in the desert, it turned red as blood.