The Songs of Fallen Gods

Under the delicate shell of night, the heart of High Ashem lay bared to the cold stars, and with the rising of the dawn came her final doom. In the waters of the long lake lay the sacred island of Mannat, and upon the island stood the many-clustered temples and palaces and towers of the city named Mutun – The Place Where the Gods Live Eternally. This place had been the heart of High Ashem for six hundred years, but it would not rule for one more day.

Fires were lit across the city, and the bells rang for prayers to all the gods. The shrines of Hadad and Uanan, of Slud and Anatu were alight with the fires of sacrifice. Lowing bulls were cut open and their blood poured into basins, their entrails fed into burning coals. Incense covered the smell of fear as virgins were offered up in the old rituals. Priests called forth their invocations and choirs sang the songs of supplication and propitiation. The people who dwelled on the shore along the riverside huddled down in their clay houses and made their own small offerings, cast their own small prayers to the fading dark.

All through the days before, those soldiers who had escaped the great disaster had staggered into the city from the desert’s edge. Warriors and porters and men driving wagons filled with supplies had come in a long stream, each of them bearing the same evil tidings. The army had been crushed, scattered across the riverlands, and the invincible Iron King had been cast down and was seen no more. The power of the black sorcerer from the south had proven too great, and even now an army of barbarians marched for the heart of the kingdom.

Some thousands of men straggled into the city, and the gates were shut and the watch-fires lit. The island was well-fortified with a heavy stone wall around the shore, and with the swollen Nahar to act as its moat, there seemed to be cause for hope, yet there was little to find. The army had no leaders of force or will, as Nokh had slain any who stood against him. He had made himself the only war-lord, and now he was gone. The men huddled on the walls and looked out into the dark, and they were sick with fear of the sorcerer.

Akanshi could feel it, even where she stood on the balcony of the palace and looked down to where firelight reflected in the muddy waters of the lake. She was queen here, but tonight it did not mean anything. She was a queen with no king, with no army and no generals worth the name. Khumu was dead, and she had only just finished burying him with some semblance of the proper ceremony. Headless his shade would wander the afterlife, and she had no comfort to offer his spirit, for she would join them soon enough. Her husband was dead, her son was dead, and soon her kingdom would die. She clenched her hands as if she could feel the lands sliding through her fingers like sand.

She heard her maidservant cough lightly and she turned away from the dark. The girl bowed low. “I have brought forth the royal slavemaster and the king’s chamberlain, as you commanded.”

“Thank you,” Akanshi said. She beckoned the large slave who stood close by, and he came and stood beside her, in his hands a long shape draped with white muslin. She looked at it for a moment, then turned back to face the door and watched as a heavy, smooth-faced man and a tall, thin man entered and bowed to her. They were Ughan, the master of all the slaves in the palace, and Enkur, the chamberlain. They were what passed for authority now there was no king and no general, now all the lords were dead or in hiding. Akanshi was the sole person of royal blood, but they would not listen to a woman, not in matters of war.

“Greetings, my lords,” she said. “I have called you to ask you both a single question. When the enemy comes to the city, what will you do?”

Enkur bowed again. “My lady, there can be no answer save surrender. Only five thousand men have returned – perhaps less – and that will not be enough to defend the city.”

“Even if we had three times as many,” Ughan said, “the leader of the invaders is a sorcerer. They say at the battle he caused the earth to open and swallow. . . Nokh.” He looked uncomfortable for a moment, pointedly not naming the fallen general as king. “How can we oppose such power?”

“Indeed,” Enkur said. “If we surrender without struggle, they may spare the city. There will be so much along the shore to pillage, so many villages and lesser temples. Perhaps we can spare Mutun the sack.” He stroked his blue-black beard. “When the day breaks we can send forth emissaries to meet with this conjurer and make overtures to him. We can offer him a great price in gold, and even a king’s harem of women for his pleasure.”

“Yes,” Ughan said, nodding his head. “There are over a hundred women reserved for the king, and now there is no king. They are all young and comely. They would make a fine gift for such a marauder. They might indeed sate his desire for plunder.”

“Indeed,” Akanshi said, her voice noncommittal. “Here is something I would like to show you.” She drew the cloth from the thing the slave held for her, and she lifted from his hands the sharp bronze sword, the curved sickle edge gleaming in the lamplight. The two men looked at it curiously as she hefted it with both her delicate hands.

Neither of them seemed to fear for themselves, and so they only watched when she drew back the sword and hacked into the slavemaster’s neck with it, splattering blood across the floor, across her own white gown and across Enkur, who spat and blinked, looking shocked, as though awakened from a dream. Then she drew back her blade and struck again, slicing Enkur’s throat open so that he fell, clutching himself, blood flooding through his fingers. He made a sickening gagging noise, and then he was still, blood hissing from his corpse.

“There will be no surrender,” she said in a low voice, and she dropped the bloodied sword onto the slavemaster’s body. “I will kill the sorcerer myself.” She looked at the slave who stood close to her. His face was impassive, but she could read the fear beneath it. “Come,” she said. “Attend me, and you shall be the new master of all slaves.” She turned and walked out of the room, leaving behind the blood-iron stink of killing, and the man followed her into the dark.

o0o

Dawn cut the horizon like a blade, and dust rose up against the paling stars as the army of Meru came in sight of the city. Rank upon rank of footmen marched with spears and shields held ready, light glinting on dusty iron. Behind them came the horse, moving in a mass like a sandstorm. The men and beasts were weary from many days travel, but at last they were in sight of their goal, and as the sun began to glow upon the white walls of Mutun, a cry went up from every man. It was a sound of joy, but also a bloody sound that promised war.

Utuzan rode to the head of the army and looked out over the flooded farmland to gaze upon the white city, and it pleased him. This age of man was poor in grandeur, but there were moments of beauty that still remained to be found. Perhaps, once resistance had been broken, he might indeed build this place into something worthy to be called an empire.

No army awaited them on the green-sprouting plain, and trails of smoke from within the walls spoke of watchers there. They had gathered on the island to stage a final defense, and from where he sat on his restive steed he could see the place where a great causeway had been broken down and cast into the muddy waters. There would be no path into the city, now, save across the water by reed-built raft or boat. They no doubt believed their island was impregnable, but he would prove otherwise.

It would have been well to have Kardan here, but he was on a barge headed to the south in company with Shedjia. His wounds taken in battle with Nokh were grievous, and he needed time to heal. Utuzan squinted at the hills behind him where the peaks were already alight with the fires of dawn. Let it be so, then. He would break the city himself, with no champion and no assassin. All would see and know that he was unstoppable.

He gave commands and his riders began to range forth along the riverside, seeking provender and pillage. His army would rest through the long, hot day, and then when night came, beneath the swelling moon, he would break this city and make it his own.

o0o

Akanshi went down away from the dawn, into the deeps of the old palace. She left behind the bright, high halls and followed narrow passageways into the places that had been made in elder days, the plaster of the walls cracked and crumbled, the stonework behind it stained by many ages of time. The men and gods painted on the walls and carved on the pillars became strange to look on, elongated and warped, as though they were not men at all. Hadad loomed above all, his skin blue and the rays of the sun around his head like daggers. Now, no artist dared uncover the face of the sun god, and he was shown with his bull-headed mask. In the old ways his face was revealed, and she felt his gaze upon her.

She descended a final stair, turning to follow it, the stone smooth beneath her feet, and then she came to a door covered with bronze turned green with years. There was no lock, only a bar that she drew back and threw aside, the metal staining her fingers when she touched it. The bar rang on the floor in the quiet, and she heard the slave behind her gasp. She took the lantern from his hands and nodded. “Await me here.”

The chamber beyond was small, the walls plain and unadorned. The floor was black stone, and at the center was a bronze cap over a hole in the floor. The metal had all but eaten away, and disintegrated at her touch. She saw the gold chain that trailed over the edge and vanished down the hollow well.

Her hands shook as she set down the lantern and took the heavy chain in her hands. She pulled at it, heard it clangor down in the dark, and she had a moment to imagine what blind, pale things might swim in the waters here so far beneath the island. She shook off the thought and drew the chain up, hand over hand, feeling the weight on the end of it but seeing nothing until it was there.

It was a cask that had once been silver but was now blackened with time, festooned with strange shells and growths. She placed it on the floor, her skin crawling when she touched it, and she slid back the ancient lock and opened it, her hands shaking.

Within the small chest lay two things on a bed of silk long rotted to tatters. There was a dagger sheathed in a black scabbard of carved obsidian, and a glove plated with the same gleaming, ebony glass. In the thin light of the lantern, they glittered like dark serpents.

Akanshi knew better than to touch the dagger. She lifted the obsidian-scaled glove and drew it on her right hand, and then she picked up the sheathed blade. Inside she knew it was made from volcanic black glass so thin it was almost translucent. The legends of this weapon were dark, but vivid. It had been sealed away in here for a long time, but now it was the final hour of High Ashem. Now she would bring forth this dark fang and feed it once more; if it could not drink the life of the sorcerer, it would drink her own.

o0o

Utuzan rose with the dark, feeling the night breathe in from the hidden places of the wasteland. This age was so desolate, yet there was a kind of beauty in that. The sharp divide between the harsh deserts and rugged hills with the bright green swaths of cropland snugged tight against the riverside, the muddy waters flowing down from the southern mountains, bearing life with each flood-tide. There was a grace to it, even as it seemed mean and small to him. He remembered an age beside a deep blue sea, when men sailed on white ships and read the stars at noon, when the sun broke over rolling green hills heavy with long grass and spreading trees.

Now he gathered his robe about him and belted on his sword of darkness. He took the Heart of Anatu in his hand and kissed it, whispered to it as to a lover. It was his companion when all others fell away. He stepped forth from his black tent and looked across the river to where the white city gleamed, fires coming alive in the dusk, and he smiled as the path of stars stood revealed overhead.

A messenger came and knelt before him. “My lord, the queen of High Ashem sends word to ask to meet with you.”

He breathed for a moment, not answering. This must be the bride of the slain king. Now that Nokh was gone, there was no one who remained to wield power save a widow. He felt that he had taken his fill of queens, and he had no desire to negotiate with some sniffling young girl. Yet if he met her, and took her, then that could do much to break the will of the defenders. He wanted the city unscarred, and this would be a way to have it.

He nodded. He pointed to a small shrine that stood close to the shore of the lake. “There. Tell her to go to the shadow of the shrine and I will meet her. Go.” He did not watch the rider leave, instead looked back to where his army gathered. He would part the waters, and they would march to the white gates. He could shatter the walls with his power, but why strike if he did not need to. Far better to enter the city as a liberator than as a scourge.

He nodded again, as though answering someone, and he murmured to the Heart. There were words upon the night that only he could hear, but they told of many things, and of nothing. His advent had shattered the future, and so there were many paths that might become the true one. He could not know until he walked them.

o0o

He found her in shadow, away from the moonlight. She stood beneath two lanterns hung from the ancient pillars, and she was robed in white, decked in jewels that shimmered. She was older than he had expected, though still a very beautiful woman. She had a high-boned face with wide, dark eyes and a long nose like a blade. Her mouth was full and fleshy, and he wanted to touch her lips, to feel their texture and weight. Her hair was braided and piled on her head, draped in white gauze and glinting with red stones.

She did not bow when he appeared, seeming to shape himself from the night. She did not look afraid, nor shrink away, and he liked that. He approached and saw she was tall, and her eyes flashed green as she studied him. She had not brought guards or attendants, and she stood alone and pale. She brushed back her veil, and he saw she had a glittering glove on her right hand scaled like the belly of a lizard.

“Greetings, queen,” he said. “I am honored, as should you be.”

“I am,” she said. “Thank you for meeting with me. I am Akanshi, wife of King Khumu, who was slain by the iron devil Nokh. I am told you destroyed him, and for that I thank you.”

He waved it aside. “I am Utuzan, son of Ahidah and heir of Lost Kithara. I am the voice from the elder world, the son of night. I am the one foretold. The Black Flame.”

He saw her eyes flicker, as though she sought something behind him in the dark. “Indeed,” she said. “You claim a great heritage, heir to a lost kingdom.”

“I slumbered while time devoured lands and men,” he said. “I have awakened to a world much smaller and lesser than the one I left, and I am determined to put an end to all kings and kingdoms, to all wars and divisions. There will be again one empire beneath one rule.” He smiled at her. “Fortunate are you to live to see it.”

“And yet I do not feel fortunate,” she said. “I am here before you, and a proud queen must demean herself to ask that you spare my city, and my people. We marched to war against you, but it was no doing of any man who yet lives. I gave no such command, I made no call for battle, and yet I am all that remains. I rule in Mutun because there is no one else left. I am the last royal blood within the walls, and so it falls to me.” She stepped closer to him. “What must I do so that you will not pillage and burn my home? That is what I have come to ask.”

“I have little interest in destroying your city. It will be mine, and I wish it to be intact. All I require from you, Queen, is submission.” He moved to stand over her, his shadow seeming to expand and enclose her. In his left hand the Heart pulsed like a living thing, and he held out his right. “Kneel to me, and you will be spared.”

She looked at him, her proud face unreadable, and then she went sinuously down onto her knees. She took his hand, bent her head, and kissed it, and then she brought up her gloved hand and he saw something glitter in the dark. Before he could move she cut him quick across the palm with something so sharp he did not even feel the edge. He pulled his hand back, saw the blood, and then he saw the hatred alive in her eyes like a fire.

“I do not submit,” she hissed. “I do not yield. Your men may kill me, and they may raze Mutun to the bare stone, but I will have your life for the price of it.”

She stood and held up the slim dagger, the blade like dark smoke, so thin he could see through it. “The blade of Akun,” she said. “The dagger of many venoms. You will not live to have it, nor me!”

Akanshi reversed the blade and stabbed it toward her chest, but Utuzan held up his wounded hand and unseen power snatched it from her grip and she reeled back. He could feel, now, some poison slithering in his blood, and it was cold. He bared his teeth and closed his bloodied hand in the air, and Akanshi gasped as power closed her in an invisible fist. “You are wrong once more, queen of a dead king. I will not let you escape me so easily.”

He spoke ancient words, and then a light blazed from his eyes, and when it fell upon her she screamed. Her supple limbs grew stiff, her eyes filmed over, and she went rigid, pressed back against the pillar, until her flesh was white and smooth, and she had become a statue of alabaster clad in queenly vestments.

Coldness ran through Utuzan, and he held up his hand to see the slim cut across his palm, the blood already slowing, but the blood that did flow was black and smoked in the night air. In his youth he had eaten poison after poison, had been bitten by a hundred serpents. There should be no venom that could undo him, and yet he felt stiffness creeping into his limbs, and pain there like fire in a bed of coals.

Not yet. Not yet. He looked at the white city gleaming across the water, and he snarled in anger. He would not be mocked like this. Reckless, he called on his power, flung names into the outer darkness to echo from the starred vault above, and then the earth heaved beneath his feet. The bed of the lake surged upward, sending waves crashing against the shore. He heard his warriors shout as they saw a causeway rise from the waters and form a path across the floodlands, fish flailing and crabs scuttling in the mud.

He heard horses and turned to see Izil and his warriors emerge from the darkness. Utuzan gestured with his bleeding hand. “Go across the waters. Take the city and do with it as you will. Show no mercy to those who stand against you.” He felt a great weakness wash over him, clutched the Heart of Anatu close to his chest. It beat in time with his own heart, pulsing with inner fire. The coldness flowed through him, but the Heart gave him warmth. He went to one knee, and then he fell back upon the stone and looked up at the bright scatter of stars. The darkness reached down for him, and surrounded him, and then it carried him away.

o0o

That night the armies of the Black Flame crossed the water and broke the gates of Mutun. Horsemen rode through the shaded marketplaces and cut down any who did not flee. They set houses ablaze and trampled the banners of kings into the dust. Fires rose against the sky as they ravened through the temples of the gods, spilling blood upon the sacred stones.

They rode into the temple of Hadad, where they toppled his statue and pried the gold from his bull mask and the jewels from his eyes. They took the priestesses for slaves and tore down the fine hangings to make covers for their beds. They decked themselves in looted gold and jewels and rich cloth, and they laughed as they ate the food gathered for offerings.

Nomads broke into the shrine of Slud and spilled the sacred waters, shattered the crystal vessels and drank the sacred liquor from the blue-pearl encrusted chalices. They drove the eunuchs forth and arrayed themselves like kings upon the long couches.

Only one temple they did not profane. The Hall of Anatu was inviolate, and the riders laid offerings of plunder upon the steps until the way was heaped with treasure and silks and the heads of slain enemies. The priestesses chanted to the sky as the night grew deeper, trying to banish fear until the day might return.

It was not yet day when Izil came to the temple and with him were a dozen men on foot. Together they bore the motionless form of Utuzan into the place of his goddess, and they laid him on black silks draped over the altar before her many-armed image. Izil laid the Heart of Anatu upon his chest and called forth the priestesses to gather and invoke their mistress, to call down all her favor, with every chant and song they possessed. He called for them to lift up their voices and utter prayers by day and by night for the chosen one of Anatu, for Utuzan the Black Flame.