When on High

By Marcin Wrona

War has returned to conquered Ekka. At its heart, a sorcerer promises victory and, at last, freedom from oppression. All he asks in return is a throne.

Hidden in the salt marsh, a banned cult hatches its own plots. Gemeti, daughter of a dying priestess, has few allies. If she is to a win a throne of her own, she will need support from all the wrong people.

Rimush has good reason to distrust Ekka's would-be liberator. His own hands are not so clean. If he is to blunt war's blade, he must journey into the very heart of the invader's empire, and convince the sun not to rise.

Ekka's future hangs in the balance. War has returned.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marcin Wrona
• Release date: Jan 4, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466076129

Marcin Wrona

Marcin Wrona is a Polish-born Canadian author, a multiple immigrant, a mustachio-twirling financier, and many other things besides. He lives and works in Toronto. To learn more or to follow him through the Twitters and facebooks of the world, please visit www.marcinwrona.ca.

Book preview

Chapter 1: Six Ablutions

Rimush had no idea how long he had knelt. It was difficult to measure time with a forehead pressed to the tiles. Not that he could have seen Anki’s Chariot here in any case, in this warren of corridors lit by the pale imitation of light offered by oil lamps and braziers.

Atta-maruhat, the Glowing Mountain, was the foremost of Anki’s homes upon the earth that he and his siblings had shaped. Outside, the god blazed a path across the sky. Inside, in this place some called the Home of Light, there were only dusty corridors and low ceilings. Braziers and candles, laughable attempts at matching Anki’s glory, cast dancing shadows on the floor before his eyes.

Rimush enjoyed the irony. It helped to pass the time, which was a great service in this world of goat’s blood and incense, ablution and prayer.

The hour’s silence finally came to an end—Anki was merciful—with the hiss and pop of incense thrown on glowing coals. Rimush raised his head in time to witness a second green pellet suffering that fate. Soon, nothing remained of his morning’s work but sweet smoke and the green stains he still carried under his fingernails.

We gather here to …

Something something, praise Anki.

Rimush threw his hands up at the appropriate moments, and sang all the right songs, but his mind was a distant thing. There was too much going on today, and besides, he had spent four years attending one ritual or the other. Surely, Anki would forgive a lapse or two in concentration.

Dimet-Resu droned on from the High Priest’s pulpit and struggled to clothe a tiny effigy in linens. When he finally gave an embarrassed smile and pointed a palsied hand to Rimush, the younger did not realize he’d been called, not until a throat cleared and a neighbour’s elbow found his ribs.

Forgive me, Your Eminence. I was caught up in the song’s poetry.

Dimet-Resu’s eyes barely twitched, but Rimush saw the glimmer of amusement all the same. He was a man trained to faces, and to the lies they told.

It is a testament to the beauty of our prayers that my wheezing voice can still inspire the young, said the High Priest. Even if they are somewhat too easily distracted.

The man hiding in Rimush’s mind rolled his eyes, but the one facing the world had the good sense to look abashed when he bowed, took up the tiny robe, and pulled it over the head of an alabaster figurine. The robe’s slits found little Anki’s wings with ease. A weak hand pressed into his back and urged him back to his place among the other priests.

It was a great honour to assist Dimet-Resu in rituals. Most of Rimush’s peers thought him unworthy of such a thing, and much too swiftly elevated, but most trained their faces better than the three youngsters who now glared at him. They were newly raised up from below-stairs, men whose names and agendas he had not yet learned.

Oh, Anki, you deserve better servants. He had thought, once, that the priesthood might offer a reprieve from half-truths and whole lies. Four years of politicking had well and truly disabused Rimush of that notion, and he collected information with the same care now as he had in the days when lies bought his bread.

But even here, within a world that looked more often inward than out, it had taken little care or effort to learn why, on this day that had no great cosmic significance, the High Priest had performed the six ablutions. The whole of the Mountain was abuzz, as were the streets of Hatshut. Some men spoke in hushed tones, some blustered and cursed. A few even laughed and sang.

The Kingpriest, the Merezad, had returned to Ekka for only the second time. He had first come at the head of an army that swept down from the mountains of Sarvash. They had come with bronze and flame, but also kind words, furs and jewels for men who thought little of betraying their gods, and in this manner had the cities between the rivers all fallen to foreign control.

That man had died an emperor, and his empire the greatest ever seen. His son Massour became Merezad in turn, and when beautiful Nerkut was razed to the ground, another man died, and another Merezad arose.

It was this Kingpriest that had come to lie about peace and beauty, honour and honesty, to the people of a conquered nation. High Priest Dimet-Resu would stand with him upon the dais, to lend credence, to convince the people that their gods smiled down upon a new Merezad lording over a crumbling empire.

Kingpriest Afshin. That name was another irony to help while away hours.

Rimush had been called Afshin, once.

***

Rimush sat alone in his study, debating whether or not to quiet his screaming mind with opiates or heavier things still. He had taken a dinner of thrice-blessed lamb and bread baked with holy waters alone in his chambers. As a senior priest, that was both his prerogative and a bad idea, particularly now, when all eyes were fixed on the men who would stand with Dimet-Resu and the Merezad.

Why me?

He knew the answer, of course. Dimet-Resu doted on him, for reasons that other men could not quite fathom, but that Rimush knew had a lot to do with the narcotics he mixed to ease the grinding of too-old bones. Those same narcotics explained why Rimush had no particular fear of an indelicate rival mixing up a thrice-blessed poison to go with his meat. Here in his study were herbs that healed, herbs that harmed, and tablets that explained the difference in all the languages of the world.

It was Rimush’s talent with language that had first won him a room in the Mountain proper, and not the spider’s web of the below-stair. It was important, in these days under a foreign boot, to find men who could read and write in Sarvashi as naturally as they did in Ekkadi.

Rimush’s explanation for his facility with the conqueror’s language was a life spent traveling. That was not entirely a lie, but it was an answer to a different question.

I need to think. He sighed and reached out for a tincture of opium. Before he could uncork the bottle, a knock came at his door.

Enter, he said, putting the bottle back.

H-Holiness, a l-letter c-c-c-came. Stammers, as they called him down below, held up a block of clay and scrunched his face up in concentration. It’s ur-ur-g-g-urgent.

Thank you, Tugub. You may leave it here.

N-n-no, H-Holiness.

Rimush almost winced. Saying ‘no’ made Tugub nervous, and nerves meant jerkier speech. Still, he would listen patiently and allow the boy to say what he had come to say. I-I am bi-b-bid to r-return a reply.

Rimush nodded and took the package. He broke apart the envelope of soft clay and jerked his head to the cabinet that held his own writing supplies, but before Tugub could open a cupboard and withdraw a bowl and ewer, Rimush glanced at the fired tablet that he had freed from a clay prison. He groaned.

Fuck, he said, shaking his head. The boy’s eyes widened, but at that moment Rimush had little interest in whatever tales of impropriety he might stammer out below. He had already profaned himself, had already made a waste of the day’s endless prayers and ablutions.

Might as well make the best of it.

Fuck piss shit cock fuck! he exclaimed. Tugub giggled. Rimush felt a little better; better enough, in any case, not to reach straight for the tincture of opium that he had moments ago put back on a shelf bending beneath the weight of a hundred similar bottles.

Do you know the man who told you to deliver this message?

Tugub shook his head.

Good. I will deliver the reply myself. I don’t want you anywhere near him.

Wh-who …?

You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Tugub … may I ask you not to speak of this to anyone? For me?

The boy’s head nodded with enough force that his nose might have bored a hole through the wall. Rimush trusted him to keep quiet for at least a day or two, before the desire to fit in grew too strong.

That was probably enough. With ‘Uncle’ Nibiru in town, not even Anki could guess what changes a day or two might bring.

***

Holiness, are you—

Important affairs to attend to. Please stand aside.

But Holiness, if you leave …

"Honestly, Dar-Atish, do you think me unaware of the laws of purification?"

The temple guard turned his eyes to the red half-cloak he wore about an armoured shoulder. I meant no offence, Holiness.

And you offered none. Sorry. I’m just a bit overwrought with … well, I think you can guess.

Dar-Atish met his gaze again, and in his eyes Rimush saw a certain measure of pity, and disgust. "I cannot believe that you must purify yourself to share a stage with that man. It is a scandal."

Even the guards already know who has been chosen?

"Don’t raise too much ire on my account, my friend. It’s just like any meeting with a Lugal. Some god or another has anointed the Kingpriest. It’s only right that we show him exactly as much respect as mandated by law. And no more."

Dar-Atish laughed. Holiness, if the other priests heard you speak so …

They have done. Why do you think I spend more time sparring and dicing with your men?

Smiles all around. A few staff strikes, some dice, some beer, or any other distraction besides might have made Rimush feel better, but he went out instead into an afternoon of long shadows.

The red velvet he wore was too heavy by far for a Hatshut summer. A breeze carried the echo of gulls in from the delta where Ekka’s two great rivers spilled into the salt sea, but it did little to cool him. By the time he descended the temple stair and crossed the courtyard by way of the shadows left by the cypress trees planted there, Rimush’s hair was plastered to his forehead, and he, like the wind, smelled of salt.

At this time of day, the Glowing Mountain was worthiest of its name. Rimush had seen the spectacle a thousand times, yet he still turned back when he reached the courtyard’s edge. The temple was built entirely of a translucent red stone that existed no place else but here, tall enough to scrape the lowest-hanging clouds on those days when Anki saw fit to share his sky.

Now that Anki’s Chariot passed into the north, the stones of the Mountain’s Evening Face glowed like embers. They drank in the god’s light, like no other stone Rimush had ever seen. In a few hours, the Chariot would pass into darkness, and those stones would still glow. Only at the very cusp of dawn, when all of Anki’s glittering soldiers had made their way to the earth and the roof of the firmament was bare, would the Evening Face finally fade into the sky’s black.

Beautiful even now, even after so many years in Hatshut, regardless of what went on within its walls.

Rimush wanted to stand there for hours, to watch the night unfold. He had no desire to be reacquainted, even in passing, with the life he had led.

But Nibiru had come to Hatshut, and so Rimush pushed his way past pilgrims and priests and labourers awaiting the evening mass.

He knew the alehouse that Nibiru had chosen for their meeting. He knew its every beam, its every chair. Rimush knew every building on that street: the counting house, where men went to submit their taxes to the city’s Lugal and its foreign Satrap; Tailor Awat’s shop, with its blue awning and the flat roof where Rimush had first tasted a woman under a sky lit up with night-fires and the Pale Queen’s silver crescent; the druggist’s shop where ‘Uncle’ Sasandar had taught Rimush the properties of coriander, fennel and hashish.

Best of all, he knew the tablet house where he had been raised, where he had learned letters and lies and pride at the foot of a second father, a man who, like Rimush, was born among the crags and hills of Sarvash and not here, between the rivers.

It was little surprise that Nibiru had chosen that street. But Rimush was no man’s fool. He could push the emotions down into the pit of him and hide them there as surely as he hid his name—the real name—that he shared with his homeland’s Kingpriest.

Nibiru would not find him quite so easy to bend and twist this time.

Chapter 2: Incense

Gemeti twitched, and the mosquito that had landed on her neck buzzed away a third time. The hum of its wings faded, but she knew the respite would be entirely too brief.

It was not a thing that would normally irritate her, not after a life spent hiding in swamps, but she had already bloodied her hands that day, and was forbidden after the ablutions to do so again.

The incense, Holiness.

Gemeti shook her head. How many times, Nakiya? Blood, water … what comes next?

Forgive me, Holiness.

Well?

… earth? The acolyte had the demeanor of a student fearing the rod of a too-strict teacher. Which, I suppose, isn’t far off the mark.

Yes. Put the incense away and form my tablet.

Nakiya scurried off to fetch a water bowl. She had not thought to bring one. She’s new. Don’t forget, she’s new. The sound of her receding footsteps eventually faded away, replaced by the whine of a returning mosquito.

Gemeti sighed. This time, when she felt a tickle on her shoulder, she did not flinch. The mosquito drank its fill and flew away. Moments later, another took its place in orbit around her head.

We had cities, once. Temples.

Footsteps again. Gemeti turned to their source, and watched a huffing Nakiya jog her way up a stair of rough stones, bowl in one hand and ewer in the other, to the mangrove gate that Gemeti herself had lashed together. The servant pushed aside a curtain of feathery leaves and sputtered as she passed through. She slapped at her mouth and pulled away the silver strands of a disturbed spider web.

My poor guardian, Gemeti said. I’m not going to get out of here with any fewer than a hundred welts. New welts, anyway.

Forgive me, Holiness. Nakiya flinched. Every time she screwed up her face in anticipation of punishment, she looked barely pubescent. It was irritating.

Must you be so tremulous?

Forgive me, Holi—

There’s my answer, I suppose.

How had this child ever screwed up enough courage to join the clergy of a banned goddess?

You know, Nakiya, that I won’t hit you. You do remember that?

Yes, Holiness. It’s just, the other …

I am not they. How many times?

For— The acolyte stopped herself, and gave an uncertain smile. Gemeti couldn’t trap the chuckle inside her throat, and half-expected the skittish creature to burst into tears at the sound of her laughter.

Instead, Nakiya set the bowl before her, and dutifully filled it. That was progress, of a sort.

Gemeti waited for a time, then withdrew a block of wet clay from the bowl and patted it into a misshapen tablet.

Your stylus, Holiness.

She pressed reed into clay until it was scored with a hundred tiny wedges in the shape of a prayer, which she silently mouthed. Then, Gemeti handed the tablet to her servant and bade her read from it.

O, Nin. O, Pale Queen. Cl … cleanse your duh … er … duh …

Debased.

… debased servant, that she may at … attend to your most …

Elevated.

I knew that. A hint of petulance, and then eyes wide with terror.

Gemeti grinned. Finally, a flash of humanity. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Gods, girl, how do you get through the day?

Forgive—

An incoherent noise escaped Gemeti’s throat, and she threw up her hands. A mosquito buzzed indignantly at this disruption to its flight.

Please, just give me the incense.

Two leaf-wrapped pellets fell into Gemeti’s outstretched hand. She turned to the altar built from Nerkut’s scattered bricks, and threw the incense into a brazier. The salt air took on the scents of jasmine, lotus and hashish. She mouthed a final prayer when Nakiya finished her reading, and shrugged away her robe.

Nakiya took up her position behind the brazier, and fanned fragrant smoke Gemeti’s way with the help of a palm frond cut in blackest night from the Perfumed Gardens of Hatshut.

Gemeti sat there, cross-legged, until no more smoke came her way, until divine voices whispered in her ear. Hours of ritual drew to an end, and she rose to her feet, dressed, and favoured Nakiya with a smile.

Thank you, child.

Holiness.

The rituals would have gone a lot more smoothly with Du-Ana, but the more competent girl had disappeared into the marsh and never returned, taken by Hounds or simply lost, or eaten by the things that only walked at night.

Another worry to toss on the pile.

Still, Nakiya was an improvement in one sense—at least this acolyte didn’t spend so much time with Gemeti’s rivals.

I will attend to my mother now, Gemeti said. You are free to spend the rest of the day as you wish.

Nakiya bowed all the way back to the mangroves. Gemeti watched her go, then set off in the other direction, to the reed shack to which a High Priestess had been reduced.

***

Leave us, Gemeti said. Return in an hour.

The physician bowed. Baasi escorted him from the hut, and then returned. He patted some fluff from his black half-cloak, and asked: Will you need me, Your Eminence?

High Priestess Arwia shook her head, but a series of wet coughs swallowed whatever words she was about to speak. Gemeti and Baasi flinched in concert. When the coughing jag subsided, Arwia tried again. This time, words came out.

That will be all, love. Circle the hut, would you? I don’t want anybody I don’t trust listening in.

Eminence. Baasi left Gemeti and Arwia with a salute and a weak smile.

Gemeti went to the bedside and clasped her mother’s hand. How do you feel?

The worst of it comes and goes. Arwia tried to sit up in the bed, winced, and gave up. Today is worse than it could be.

Don’t cry. Be strong for her.

So what is it that can’t be overheard?

Straight to affairs. My daughter.

If you’d like to talk about the clouds …

Arwia cackled. Gemeti feared another attack of coughs and convulsions, but this time, her mother’s condition offered some semblance of mercy.

I don’t remember when I last saw them, Arwia said. Are they very interesting?

They’re clouds.

Arwia’s eyes implored a ceiling of woven reeds. So many years studying poetry, and all gone to waste. What a disappointment you are.

Gemeti grinned and squeezed her mother’s hand. The High Priestess reciprocated, if only feebly.

But you’re quite right, Gemi. We need to speak seriously, before I tire.

The succession?

Of course. What else could it be? The clergy spoke of nothing else these days. But, Arwia added, there is something else. Confirm with Baasi that we can speak.

Gemeti raised her voice. A muffled response confirmed that there was no worry of eavesdroppers.

Let me speak all the way through, love. Questions later.

Gemeti nodded.

Years ago, Nin gave me a vision of war. I have tirelessly laid plans since, which … well, let us say it was not so easy, in my condition. But everything is ready. The first blow will be struck tomorrow.

War? Gemeti’s fingers twitched. At last.

I think you can guess who our general will be.

Of course.

This offers us a certain … opportunity. I do not have much time left. When the sands run out, I want you to be High Priestess.

But that’s—

"No interruptions, dear. I know full well that you are no sorceress. I have thought of that. I know the knives will come out as soon as I am gone, and that your lack of magic will be the deepest wound. But Nin has whispered to me. She will grant what you want. She will give you her gift."

Cold fingers picked at every inch of her. What? When?

But not yet. Too many of her houses have been torn down. Nin-nishi, Alu-nin-hura … and … and home.

Sorcery. Nin promised me sorcery.

I will hang on to life for as long as I can. With luck, I will live to see it. If I do not … well, even if I do, you must be strong. You must intrigue, you must gather allies, you must have your hands in every mouse hole. Understand?

Gemeti nodded.

Tomorrow, Nibiru will become a very powerful man. Align yourself with him, and even when I am gone, the others will fear to move against you. Do you understand?

Gemeti nodded.

Anything, Gemi. Do anything. Win his heart if you can, serve his interests if that proves impossible. You must be at the forefront of his mind.

But … Sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt.

Arwia’s hand twitched. I have said what I needed to. Only details remain. Ask your questions.

Is Nibiru not already our ally?

Oh, Gemi, you know what power does. He will have different needs as the general of Ekka than he does as its rabble-rouser. We cannot assume that old loves will carry us through.

Gemeti’s trembling hand brushed Arwia’s hair from a sweat-soaked forehead. Even talking tired her now. Gemeti’s heart felt as though it might shatter into a thousand knives, but she had strength. She had learned it at this very bedside.

You should sleep, mother. But I have one other question.

The corners of Arwia’s mouth curled up. I think I know what it is. I saw your face when I spoke of home.

Nerkut was not … well, it was the Singing God’s city, not ours.

"It was. I … I should not tell you this. It is a mystery reserved for … well, me. But you will be Nin’s High Priestess soon, and you must understand. Kutuanu is dead. He has been for some time. Our Queen … filled a certain spiritual gap. Why do you think Nerkut was torn brick from brick?"

Gemeti’s breathing was shallow. Sweat had begun to pool at the roots of her black hair. A drop of it traced a salty path down her face.

But … it was the Yellow Veil. She killed the Satrap, and Sarvash retaliated.

That’s why Nerkut was besieged, yes. But it doesn’t explain why every last person Nibiru could not save was put to the sword. It doesn’t explain why our home was torn brick from brick and carried to the four corners of the world.

I didn’t …

"Of course you didn’t. I never told you. Nerkut was our tragedy first, and Ekka’s second."

Gemeti exhaled. So many lives taken. So much beauty destroyed.

Why do they hate us so much?

"Because they fear us. And because they should."

Chapter 3: A Prayer for Ekka

Rimush spotted him instantly. Even from his hiding place in the corner of a taproom grey with the smoke that wafted from scented braziers and copper lamps, Nibiru commanded a certain attention.

Rimush met his eyes, and fought to keep his expression neutral. Nibiru was similarly occupied. He nodded curtly, and pointed to the empty chair beside him. His face was blank.

You look old, Rimush said. He sank into the chair and debated whether or not to pour himself a cup of beer from Nibiru’s jug.

To Rimush’s eye, the grin that split Nibiru’s face was as studied as its lack had been a moment ago. Aren’t we uncharitable?

Rimush sighed and reached for the beer.

Not even a greeting for an old friend?

Nibiru … His voice was weary. He knew that. There was no helping it just now. What the fuck are you doing here?

Straight to the point. Nibiru lifted a cup to his mouth, then wiped foam from a beard every bit as white. If somewhat vulgar.

I haven’t come to banter. Why are you in Hatshut?

Nibiru lifted a liver-spotted hand and swept it across the taproom. Hiding in plain sight, of course. Where better?

For what reason?

Would you expect a man to miss his greatest rival’s speech?

Confirmation, of a sort. Rimush had expected as much.

You and the Kingpriest are rivals now? He might be surprised to hear that.

Nibiru grinned again, looked around, and lowered his voice. Not too surprised, I don’t think. I left him a message in Sarvagadis.

That was you, was it? A week ago, six guards had disappeared in Sarvagadis. Four days ago, six guards had been found dead on the Satrap’s palace roof, their bodies arranged to spell out ‘welcome’ in the Sarvashi tongue. Rimush had heard all about it. All of Hatshut had.

Who else?

I must admit, that one impressed me. Both in the pathetic attempt at artistry and the callow disregard for human life.

Nibiru saw that Rimush had drained his cup, and refilled it.

I forget sometimes how much better a man you are than I, the old man said. Why, in all the time we spent together, I don’t think your spear ever once found a heart.

I’m a great disappointment, I know.

"To somebody, I’m sure. Oh, perhaps that jeweler’s wife in Sinmalik. She was quite disappointed when you ran off with their savings and left her with child. Killed herself, as I recall."

Rimush tried, and failed, to control the first twitches of a wince. That was a story he’d never heard.

Yes, but remember who’s telling it. "If that’s true—and don’t fucking grin at me like that—then I shall have to answer for it."

So noble.

Nibiru drained his cup and looked at Rimush expectantly. When the priest made no move towards the jug, he chuckled and poured a cup himself.

I recall telling you that I didn’t come here to banter, Rimush said.

You make a horrid nephew, you know.

We aren’t related.

Yes, I remember. You’re from lands beyond the horizon, where men walk on their hands and goats breathe flame.

Rimush’s eyes narrowed. He noticed a patron looking his way, and grasped after a lie. It would not do to be recognized in this place, to be pursued by rumours of dubious ancestry. "I wouldn’t call Ekur quite so distant."

Nibiru sighed theatrically. Everything outside Hatshut may as well be the edge of the world.

Someone chuckled assent from a nearby table.

Rimush leaned over the table. A bit loud for a man who ought to be keeping a low profile, aren’t you?

Nibiru ran a hand over a bald head and shrugged. What, these men? Rest easy, nephew. They’re all mine.

A glance at another table won Rimush a gap-toothed grin and a wave.

I don’t recognize any of them.

It’s been four years. Perhaps you expected men to stop flocking to my banner?

Nibiru drained another cup and held up two fingers. A serving girl appeared from nowhere and took away the jug. Nibiru turned down