The Sighs of the Priestess Ch. 06

A small group of travelers stopped on the top of a large hill overlooking the plain. The servants among them looked to one older man as he sat on his horse watching the fires burn in the city below. They wanted to know which way to go now, since it was clear that there was no returning to the opulent home in the city. He considered a moment and looked at the stars. "We go now to Aratta," he said, "I have a score to settle here, but first I need to prove that I can do what is wanted by the king there." The caravan turned then and they disappeared over the rise. By dawn, the last of the city's grain supply was either burned or ruined.

In the flickering light of the flames of one of the fires, several beings cried out to be set free for they lived in a cage set into one wall of a large residence. The master of the house was away and the servants still in the home ran for their lives past some of the trapped ones who wept and begged for help. In the confusion, one person heard them and approached on horseback.

A soldier from the city ran to block her path, not seeing her for what she was. Her sword flashed out and the soldier was dead in an instant but his dagger slid along the cobblestones until it rang against the bars of the cage. Instantly, several desperate hands reached for the blade. The rider stared at what she saw.

One of the trapped ones pulled the dagger inside and, one after another, three of the hopeless creatures used it. Each one hesitated only a moment or two and then they cut their own throat arteries with it. Only one of the creatures remained weeping near to the end away from the approaching inferno. In a very short time, the flames had gotten close enough to where the dagger lay that the last one's chance at suicide was beyond her grasp from the heat.

The rider saw a thin form on the outside of the bars reaching out to the one inside. As she nudged her horse a little closer, the one outside turned and she saw the visceral fear in that young face, but he remained where he was and wouldn't leave the last creature. The one inside looked up and snarled, drawing herself up in a defensive posture.

The rider stopped and whistled shrilly in a peculiar manner and in a few moments, two of the priestess' guards were beside her looking up. She explained what she'd seen and pointed. One of the women approached the boy and spoke to him in their tongue. He nodded and it was clear that he was one of the Martu who lived in the city. The rider was joined by several more and, long past being bothered by heat or flames, they passed ropes through the bars. Both of the priestess' guards had to drag the boy away from the cage and the riders pulled the bars out of the masonry.

The wall of bars crashed to the ground, and for just a second, the thing inside stared at her freedom. She was out of the cage and gone into the night within the span of an eye blink.

The boy cried out then and held his face in his hands as he wept. He was overcome with relief that she was free, but he now felt lost. The first rider held out her hand and the hot dagger rose up and drifted smoking to her in the air. She turned her horse and slowly approached the young man.

"Take this," she said, smiling as she held out the dagger by the blade, "You may have need of it to protect her if she returns to you. It is not hot now. Go where the women lead you. I will try to give you other things with which to protect her in the case where you might have the chance of it. Good luck to you, friend. I hope to meet you again." The boy stared at the kind face for a second and then found enough courage to take the blade from the dead fingers with a shaky bow.

The riders retrieved their ropes and melted away into the shadows as the two fighters led the young man away. It was several minutes before they could get anything out of him.

"Who are you?" he sobbed.

"Friends," they told him, "There are many Martu outside the walls this night. We take you to be safe now. What was that creature there?"

It took a while, but they learned that the boy was a beggar, his family had been killed in the street by the city guard. He told them that he was nineteen and had been on his own for over four years. The home belonged to a sorcerer, and the creatures in the cage had all once been Martu girls, caught by the city guard and brought to the sorcerer. He'd turned them into various cat-like things for the amusement of the townspeople. The one who had escaped was the most recent prisoner.

He told them of how he'd always tried to get enough small coins to be able to feed the creatures late at night, since the keepers often forgot once they'd gotten drunk.

One of the women stopped him at that point. "Tell it all to us," she said, "we see that there is more than this between you. Did you know the dark one before?"

"No," he said, still sobbing a little, "I saw her there one night as I came to feed them all. It has been maybe a year. I am so happy now that she is free, but I am afraid for her. I – I... " He looked down, as though he was ashamed to go on.

The fighter hugged him, joined quickly by the other one, "Tell it all, little brother," one of them said, "Look," she pointed around them, "the sky is on fire this night from what we do. There may soon be armies crashing together here. This will not be a safe place for one such as you to be soon. Wherever your friend is, she is better off now, and who knows? We will tell of what we know and all the Martu will look for her. Maybe you can see her again, but tell it all now."

He heaved a sob and let it out. "I – I love her. She can still speak and we spent the nights only holding hands while we both cried. I always listened to her, but I had to run away if someone came, or they would kill me and then no one would feed them."

He looked down, "Usually, they taunted the poor women in there or threw stones at them, and I could do nothing but watch from the shadows. If I had a dagger like this then, I would have killed the cruel ones myself, but I could not buy a blade and buy their food as well."

"She is close by," the other fighter whispered, "I have seen her jump from one roof to the next as we walk. Come. Walk with us quickly so that we may lead her out too."

They stopped to look around before crossing the almost-deserted market square. "Look only once, little brother," one of them said quietly, "she sits now on a rooftop to the side of us watching. Look up and beckon her to follow."

He did as she said, and they could see the relief flooding through him only to see her, but it was replaced with worry again in an instant as she leapt off the roof with a snarl just as she tore a soldier apart who had raised a bow behind them. It was over in an instant, and then she was gone again, leaping onto a cart and from there to the roofs again.

One of the women chuckled, "I now wish her well even more. She has uses for us even now. If we can get you both out, I would thank her for that. We did not mark that bowman, but your pretty friend there did."

When they reached the gates, they found about fifteen of the riders there, one of them the one who had helped first. The fighters quickly explained what they'd learned and what had happened.

The rider nodded, "We will force the gates open in a moment. Get the boy into the back of the cart there under the covering. Try to get the other one to join him if you can, but I think that she will not want to do this. I worry for what will happen if the horse sees her. She fears what we are, and the horse will fear her as well as us. At the least, I hope that she will somehow follow us out, for we cannot hold the gates open long. It is not what your Ba'al or my daughter want this night. Show me a sign when you are ready."

They explained it to the youth. "I am thankful," he said, "but what of the archers who stand on the wall? Will we even have a chance?"

"It is a risk," one of the fighters told him, "but our dead friends here will give us the best chance that they can. I will be driving the cart, little brother, so I can attract some arrows for you too," she grinned as she slapped his shoulder. He climbed up into the back of the wagon and tried to get the dark creature to come to him. It looked as though she couldn't or wouldn't do it, if she even understood what was wanted.

The two fighters conferred for a moment. "Tell me why I must be the one who runs alongside," one of them asked the other.

"Because we need to hem her in and keep her close by if she follows and I cannot run as quickly or as far as you - and you cannot drive a cart to save your life," the other one grinned. "You remember the last time that you tried. Only the horse had the sense to keep from running into a tree."

"True," the first one said, "but there were flies buzzing around my head that day."

"Aye," her friend said, "and there will be arrows buzzing around our ears tonight, so I will drive."

"We can wait no longer, little brother," the one driving said and she nodded to the riders.

Five of them rode right through the gate and took up positions about twenty yards out facing the wall. The rain of arrows began instantly. Nisi-ini-su's mother stood in the stirrups as several arrows passed through her and she spoke in a loud voice. The other joined in the chant and the top of the wall flared into a ribbon of flame. Many archers jumped to their deaths, most already on fire.

The gates were pushed open and the cart raced out of the city and onto the road with two riders and the other fighter running on foot alongside. Once in the clear, they allowed more space between them, the runner out about sixty feet and the riders out about two hundred, well off the road. The boy held up the edge of the cart cover and peered out praying that his friend would follow.

He saw her land in the middle of the passageway and look out at him, but she didn't move. He called and beckoned to her, begging her to come to him, but the gates had already begun to swing shut.

At the last possible second, a dark blur flashed out through the gates just before they slammed shut and it tore for the cover of the long grass. Her friend watched her with his heart in his throat, worried that an archer somewhere might get a lucky shot now.

It almost happened twice as the riders put out the flames on the wall and the braver ones among the archers ran to take up their positions again. Two arrows struck the cart before the dead high priestess saw it and pulled all of the archers on the center section over the wall with a wave. The driver of the cart stared at the arrow on the bench next to her and the boy ducked as another tore through the cover to land near to his hand. Any remaining archers didn't know what the dark shape was, but since it ran after them, they shot at it as well.

The young man's name was Illya. Normally, he was was quiet, shy, and always polite. He'd grown up to be just a little tall, but he wore the leanness of a man who was always hungry. He'd been born poorer than dirt and had learned long ago that his life was not one where he could expect much more than a little mild good luck such as finding the odd copper coin on the street, and that was at best.

Much more often, his life had taught him that if his cup was half-full, it only contained someone else's urine.

He'd do anything that he needed to in order to survive, but he drew the line at robbery, murder, or theft from another unfortunate soul. Sometimes he was lucky enough to find a bit of work, but it was such a rare thing that he made sure to say his thanks when he prayed at night, for he was still young enough to believe in the things that his mother had taught him.

But his time doing his best to care for the poor creatures in the cage had brought out a few changes in him. In that one poor girl, he'd developed a hope that should have never pushed up a tendril out of the dust and dirt of the bleak streets of Khamazi, but it pushed up nonetheless.

They both knew the only possible outcome though it was never spoken of between them. She would eventually stop eating and starve herself to death. It was what they all did after a while. The only way out of that cage was to be a dead carcass thrown onto the refuse heap of Khamazi. She would have already begun it were it not for him coming to her every night without fail to talk and hold her thin pawed hand through the bars.

He hadn't even known it himself, but something else had begun to spring out of the dirt – a part of the tenril of hope. It was the beginnings of his desire to offer her the only other thing that he had to give her. His heart was being dragged out of the dust. Right now, the poor heart of the former street urchin was beating hard out of fear for the one that he cared for so hopelessly. That little machine in his chest began to work even harder now, because young Illya had taken just about all that he could stand.

He pulled his hand back from where the arrow had struck, and it came down on something else in the back of the cart there with him. His eyes opened wide in surprise as he felt what lay there with disbelief. He threw back the cover and stared. He didn't know how it could have happened, or who it belonged to, but he found a war bow next to him and a quiver full of arrows.

Illya had never held something like this – but he'd seen one used often enough. He began to mutter to himself as he tried to nock an arrow. He looked up at the archers on the sections of the wall that the riders hadn't cleared. They were just getting down to their deadly business, so he thought that he'd better get down to a little of his own. He had a hope that with luck, he might force a few of them to miss more often.

His first shot reached the wall, well to the left of where he'd aimed. His next one caused an archer to fall. Illya was elated, but it hadn't been the one that he'd aimed at. But Illya was a bright young lad, he thought about it quickly and made his correction.

The driver of the cart began to hear strange cursing behind her as he muttered and swore. She spun around on the bench and stared for a moment. The boy was driven, furious now and though he didn't know it, she could see that he was riding his fury perfectly. The only odd thing was that she knew it whenever he loosed an arrow, because the effort of the draw and the concentration caused him to emphasize his words at that point.

"I have never had a CHANCE ... "

"to have even ONE thing for myself."

" You .... BASTards live a good life!"

"You're JUST the same as me, but you're fatter because you get to EAT."

"You come from better families and you are SuMERian"

" ... and so you get the work... YOU get the food given to you while better people go withOUT."

"By the NINE flaming dark hells..."

"and the GODforsaken desert,..."

"I will TEACH you to keep ... "

"your squinting little pig's eyes DOWN now."

He growled through his teeth, shooting one arrow after another as the driver and the runner both stared at him while he stood in the back of the cart drawing back that bow.

They couldn't believe what they were looking at. His arrows were causing the archers on the wall and the rooftops to flinch and best of all, his shots were telling. He'd already hit six of the bowmen. The bouncing cart and the poor light didn't matter a bit, for Illya was angry now and he didn't care about anything anymore.

"You do well, little brother!" the runner called to him, "Just stay angry, you handsome thing. I love a man when he is angry!"

The men on one rooftop called to one of their own and a large archer stood up and lifted his heavy bow. Illya saw the motion and swung his point of aim that way, He hesitated for just a second as he drew a breath and swore the air blue with an oath under his breath. As lucky as he might be, the one on the wall was a marksman. It was written all over him.

His young voice rose a little and cracked with his rage and desperation as he sent one arrow after another that way, "You will leave us a-LONE!" he howled at them. You will NOT hurt her!"

One man fell next to the large archer and he ducked slightly as another of Illya's arrows caused the one on the other side of him to clutch at the arrow in his shoulder.

He turned his bow to aim at Illya now.

Illya turned to the driver and said, "Please, stop the cart and get as low as you can for one moment."

The driver pulled back on the reins and ducked, hoping that neither the angry young man or the horse were hit.

Illya knew several things. His target was well-lit by the light of the flames in the city being reflected from the clouds of smoke above. He also knew that from the view of the men on the wall, the cart was in darkness now and the archers were shooting along the line of the road, which had just turned slightly. He stood thinking and hoping and praying fervently now because he knew one thing more.

By the way that they cheered him when he'd stepped forward and by his stance, the man on the wall was a very good bowman and seldom missed. His friend in the grass was in more danger from this one than all of the rest of them put together.

Illya didn't flinch as he heard the arrows whip past him. He drew a deep breath, raised his bow and said one more short prayer because of the last thing that he knew.

He was down to his last arrow.

The wild creature saw him for a brief second as she ran. The sight caused her to slow to a stop in spite of the danger of the arrows which were sent her way by hopeful archers who could see little of her and were only trying to hit her by luck now. She stood and stared at him, barely lit this far from the burning city. When he lifted the bow and began to draw it back, she could see much more to him than a poor beggar.

She knew that there had been some who had laughed at him once. She didn't know where those ones were now but she supposed that wherever they were, they were not laughing this night, not with their comfortable lives in flames. She wished that they could see what she was looking at now. She doubted that laughter would come into it at all.

He was not much used to pulling back a war bow, but he did it anyway and she saw muscle groups spring up out of his leanness and for just an instant, she saw his back as it rippled and strained to hold the draw. She could feel the heat of him from where she stood and the way that he held his jaw spoke volumes to her. She knew that they all gambled this night, and she knew a little of what hung in the balance. If she could have stopped time, she'd have given in to what she felt and held him to her and never let him go.

"By the faith," he snarled as he drew a tight bead on the huge bowman and pulled back the bow for the long shot until the bowstring kissed his lips, "my name is ILLYA, and now I WILL KILL ME SOMETHING!"

The bowstring hummed to itself as the arrow left it. Illya didn't dare to breathe as he willed the arrow that he couldn't see to fly fast and hit hard where he'd sent it. He thought that he heard the slap of an impact.

A second later, the man's shot flew wildly as his fingers grew suddenly slack. For just an instant, everyone – those near to him, those others cheering now that he had joined the fight, the two fighters there with Illya, and even the dead riders – they all fell silent as they saw the boy's arrow buried deep in the archer's ribs under the arm that held the heavy bow, more than halfway to the feathers of the fletching, and right through his heart. He tottered and fell over the wall.

The two fighters recovered first, yelling and cheering. They called out their saucy taunts to the men on the wall and praised Illya widly. They knew that it had to be a lucky shot, but it couldn't have been better placed. They were at the edge of the effective range of the rest of the city bowmen. Nothing came their way now.