Echoes of the Great Song

Chapter Seven

There were many things that Sofarita wanted to say as she stood in the doorway of her father's house. She wanted to look into the Avatar's pale eyes and tell him she loathed him worse than any plague. She wanted to ask him how he could consider rutting when a good man was sitting with his family, telling them he was being forced to kill himself. Yet she could not. For despite her pride, and an irrepressible personal courage, she knew that to anger this man would bring terrible retribution on others. Sofarita would have willingly spoken her heart to this man, even in the sure knowledge of death. Yet the Avatar, this slim young killer, would have no compunction about killing her entire family. Perhaps the whole village. To risk such a tragedy would be foolhardy in the extreme.

Instead she stood in the doorway, head bowed, hands clenched tight beneath the red shawl wrapped around her slender shoulders, hoping that the racking cough she had endured for the last three months would not ruin what chance she had of placating this man of evil.

Her father had chosen her for this distasteful mission because she had been married for two years. He felt his widow daughter would find the violation easier to accept. How simple men are, she thought. How little do they understand the nature of such violation.

Yet she had not criticized him. At twenty-two Sofarita could read the faces of men, and she saw in Bekar a terrible fear, and a great longing. He had been made headman and this, he believed, would bring wealth and security to his family. Yet it all rested on the charms of his daughter.

Sofarita thought him short-sighted. There would be no wealth, and precious little security for the headman of Pacepta. They were too close to the borders of the Erek-jhip-zhonad, and soon other raiders would come, followed by settlers who would either kill the villagers or force them from the land. The Avatars would be wiped out. Everyone knew that. The sure knowledge of it whispered in the movement of the wind-rustled corn. It could be heard in the fluttering of a sparrow's wing. But great damage could still be done to the Vagars in the death throes of the Avatar Beast.

The Avatar Beast…

She raised her eyes and looked at the man. His face was handsome, his yellow hair close-cropped at the front and sides, long at the back. At the temples the hair was dyed sky blue. He smiled and beckoned her forward. It was a gracious smile, full of warmth and friendship. But then, thought Sofarita, if evil wore an ugly face no-one would yearn for it.

Tell me about yourself,' he said. The voice was light, but yet still manly. It was the voice of a bard or a singer. She looked into his pale grey eyes, seeking sign of the cold killer she knew him to be. There was nothing to be seen. The horror lay below the skin, behind the eyes.

'I am a widow, lord,' she said, averting her dark gaze from him.

'And that is your life story? How drab. Did your husband teach you to be a good lover before he died?'

Anger flared in her, but she suppressed it, though her cheeks burned red. Suddenly she coughed, the spasms rocking her. Bile and blood entered her mouth but she swallowed them down.

'Have I offended your Vagar sensibilities?' he asked her. 'If so I apologize. Now close the door and show me your body.'

As she did so she considered his question. Had Veris made her a good lover? Did a woman need a man to show her how to make love? But then, she reasoned, he does not mean what he says. To a man a good lover was someone who offered them the most pleasure. Veris had not made her a good lover, he had been a good lover.

Something she believed this Avatar would never understand. Sofarita pushed shut the door, then turned and let her shawl fall to the floor. Beneath it she was wearing a simple dress of white wool, laced at the front with silver ribbon. She began to untie the lace. The Avatar rose, moving smoothly to stand before her. His nimble fingers took her hands and drew them away from the ribbon. Then he untied the dress, slipped it over her shoulders and allowed it to fall to the dirt floor.

His right hand slid over her belly. 'You have borne no children,' he said. 'How long were you married?'

'Three months.'

'Follow me,' he said, and walked through to the back of the house and into the main bedroom. The bed was of carved wood, the mattress laid over wooden slats. He dragged back the blankets and knelt by the bed. For one insane moment Sofarita thought he was praying. Then he rose. 'No bugs that I can see,' he told her. Swinging towards her he suddenly slapped her face. It was not a hard blow, but it stung.

'Why do you strike me?' she asked him.

'For your impertinence,' he told her, with a bright smile. 'The correct answer was "Three months, lord." How did your husband die?'

Her face was hot from the slap. 'He was gored by a bull, lord.'

'How sad. Now get into bed.' Sofarita did so, averting her eyes as he removed his clothing.

His lovemaking was assured and surprisingly gentle, and Sofarita did her best to make him believe that she was enjoying the experience. When at last he rolled clear of her she even reached out to stroke his cheek. His fingers snaked out and grabbed her wrist. 'There is no need for further play-acting,' he said, still amiable. 'You did well. The tension is gone from me.'

'I am glad I pleased you, lord,' she said.

'No, you are not. You are glad that your father will not suffer.'

Rising from the bed he dressed swiftly and walked back to the outer room. Sofarita lay for a while in her parents' bed, then she followed him. Lifting her dress from the floor she shook the dust from it and put it on.

'Shall I leave, lord?' she asked.

'No, sit with me for a while.' She joined him at the table and he poured her a goblet of wine which she sipped dutifully. She felt the cough rising again, and took another sip of wine. 'Did you know that you are dying?' he asked her, his voice bright, almost cheerful.

The words shook her. 'You are going to kill me?' she asked.

Leaning forward he slapped her again. 'How many times must you be told? Are you so stupid that a simple instruction, a small courtesy, is beyond you?'

'I am sorry, lord. Your words frightened me. Are you going to kill me, lord?'

'No, I am not going to kill you. You have a cancer in your chest. It has already covered one lung. How long have you been bringing up blood?'

'Some weeks now, lord.' Deep down she had known the truth but had not faced it. Now she was forced to.

Her energy had been low now for months, and weight had been dropping from her despite the meals she consumed. She took a breath, seeking calm. It was a shallow breath, but all she could manage these days. Then he spoke again.

'Well, a man should always pay for his pleasures,' he said, rising to tower over her. From a pouch at his belt he took a green crystal which he held to her breast. Pain pierced her and she cried out. 'Sit still,' he said. A feeling of warmth entered her belly, rising into her chest. It seemed to focus on the right side of her body, seeping deeper. Sofarita felt dizzy, but the Avatar's left hand dropped to her shoulder, steadying her. At last the warmth subsided.

'Take a deep breath,' he said.

She did so, and to her delight her lungs filled with air.

'You are healed,' he told her. 'Now you may go.'

'You have given me life, lord,' she whispered.

'Yes, yes. And next time I see you I may take it away. Now go and tell your father I am well pleased. Tell him also to bring out Shalik's body so that I may see it before I leave.'

Sadau, the potter, had no desire whatever to deliver the head of the king's brother. He had seen the bodies of those who had angered Ammon — bodies impaled outside the royal palace. Sadau had no wish to be impaled. As he rode to the first bridge across the Luan he halted his pony and gazed around. No-one was in sight. With one heave he sent the head spinning out into the rushing water. It sank like a stone.

Relieved, he rode across the bridge and made his slow way home. All might have been well — save for his cousin Oris. Sadau made the mistake of telling him what had occurred. Naturally he swore him to secrecy.

Unfortunately Oris told his wife, swearing her to secrecy also. By the end of the day every member of the village knew — though they were all sworn to secrecy. The last person to hear was the sergeant of the watch, who reported the tale to his captain.

Four of the king's soldiers, dressed in red robes edged with gold thread and carrying long swords and wicker shields, arrived at Sadau's home at dawn the following morning and the little potter was dragged from his bed and hauled to the palace.

Sadau had never been inside the palace, and had only ever glimpsed the king from afar, riding the Swan Boat along the Luan at the time of the spring floods.

The soldiers said nothing as they walked. Sadau trudged along beside them, glancing up, every now and again, into the stern faces of his guards. 'I haven't done anything wrong,' he said. But they did not respond.

The Red Palace loomed before him. High columns of fluted sandstone skirted the building, which had been constructed of mud-bricks from the red clay of the upper Luan. There were no statues around the palace, though it was said that Ammon had commissioned two likenesses of himself from the city of Egaru and these had been covered with gold. Sadau was not thinking of statues, however, as the soldiers paused before the huge double doors of the main entrance.

Two of the king's guards marched down the steps to take charge of the little potter. They were burly men, dressed in tunics of black silk, over which they wore breastplates of bronze. Upon their heads were long, black conical caps of lacquered silk, emblazoned with a silver star.

Sadau was led up the steps and through the doors. Inside there were lanterns set in bronze brackets on the painted walls, and scores of servants moved purposefully around the great hall. Nobles lounged on couches, or sat on cushions, and the floor was covered with delicately fashioned rugs. At the far end of the hall was a golden throne flanked by two life-size golden statues, showing Ammon standing, arms folded across his chest, a stern expression on his androgynous face.

The royal guards pulled Sadau towards the empty throne then pushed him to his knees. He gazed up at the faces of the statues, seeking some sign of gentleness in the features.

A slim young man moved across the hall and sat down upon the throne. Sadau blinked and flicked his gaze back to the statues and then to the young man. There was no mistaking the resemblance. Sadau looked deep into the man's face. It was strangely beautiful. The eyelashes were darkened with lines of black ochre, the eyelids dusted with gold. The young man's hair was dark and long, the temples shaved close and stained with gold.

'You have a message for me?' he asked, his voice light. Sadau looked into his violet eyes and felt a shiver of fear.

'I was too frightened to deliver it, lord,' he said, his voice breaking.

'Deliver it now.'

Sadau closed his eyes. 'The Avatar said to tell you not to raid his lands again.'

'His exact words, potter. I require his exact words.'

Sadau felt a hot flush in his stomach and sickness rising in his throat. He swallowed hard. 'He said that if you raided his lands again he would ride into… into…'

'Go on.'

'… the hovel you call a palace and would rip out your entrails and make you eat them.'

To Sadau's surprise the king laughed, the sound rich and vibrant. He opened his eyes and blinked. The king rose from the throne and walked to where the potter was kneeling. 'And my brother's head?' he asked.

'I threw it into the Luan.'

'And what do you think should be your punishment, little man?' asked the king. He was so close now that Sadau could smell the jasmine perfume he wore.

'Please don't impale me, lord,' wailed Sadau. 'Kill me cleanly. I did not mean to cause offence.'

'Would you consider it justice if I removed your head and threw it into the Luan?' asked the king.

Sadau nodded dumbly. Anything was better than being impaled. 'Send for the headsman,' ordered the king.

They did not have long to wait and a huge man strode down the hall to stand alongside the potter. Sadau glanced round and saw that the man carried a huge cleaver with a curved edge. The potter began to tremble. 'Never delay a message to a king,' said Ammon. 'It is well known that kings have terrible tempers, and a great lust for blood. Now bend your neck.'

Sadau began to weep, but he leaned forward, exposing the nape of his neck to the headsman. The king gestured and the cleaver swept up. Sadau could see its shadow stretching out before him.

The blade swept down. Sadau squeezed shut his eyes. The cleaver flashed through the air, but the headsman halted the blade at the last moment, allowing the cold metal to lightly touch the back of Sadau's neck. The potter fainted and fell forward.

'Carry him back to his home,' said the young king, 'and when he wakes tell him to beware of secrets in the future. Secrets are like grain seeds. You can bury them deep, but they always seek the light.'

The first of the guards bowed low. 'As you command, lord. But might I ask a question?'

The king nodded. The guard cleared his throat. 'Why do you let him live?'

'Because I have the power,' said the king. 'You have other questions?'

'No, lord.'

'Good. When you have returned the potter to his home fetch Anwar. Bring him to my apartments.'

The soldier bowed. Then he and his comrade lifted the unconscious Sadau and carried him from the palace.