A SERIAL of SHEMSHIRAN
BY JEFFREY BLAIR LATTA
Previously: On his way to the Tower of the Tiger to rescue Almaz, Fukitso heard Ghaffar and his henchmen secretly following, their desire being to let the Ronin save the girl, so they could torture her to learn where she had hidden the treasure map. Inside the Tower, Fukitso encountered a wizard whose weapons were illusions drawn from the Ronin's own memories. Defeating the wizard, the Ronin took a ring off the wizard's finger, sensing it might come in handy later. Then, he heard Almaz scream twice from somewhere far above.
Now, a short while before, in the altar room...
Finally, at some point,
she fell asleep. Her dreams were rampant with fearful, cackling shadow-creatures
and loathsome, ravishing hands in the dark. And overall floated the
mocking aura of the woman, Zehabi, and her words echoed sinister and foreboding,
like a funereal dirge: Then they will give you to me.
Suddenly, Almaz's silken lashes parted, and she awoke with a start to find a man standing beside
her. His face was not unpleasant, seemingly carved from the selfsame
stuff as that upon which she lay -- an ebony hue seldom seen even among
the jungle races beyond the Jebel Qamar.
A rich purple robe
hung easily from his shoulders. The hood was drawn back and the wide
sleeves were pulled to reveal wiry forearms, held crossed upon his chest.
His eyes were squinted as in weighty contemplation and, at first, she thought
it was she they regarded her with that absorbed and pensive stare.
But then she realized it was the weirdly carven stone sarcophagus beyond
her which he studied with such intensity - - and she sensed an odd flicker
of fear behind that gaze.
As she started into
wakefulness, he pulled his eyes from the sarcophagus and looked down on
her. A slight smile stirred his lips -- a smile that held none of
the scorn of her previous visitor.
"Welcome," he said,
and his voice was deep and soothing. "I am glad that you could sleep.
This place brings naught but sleepless nights to many. Were your
dreams pleasant?"
Astounded by his kindly
manner, she responded in spite of herself. "No."
"I am sorry.
I suppose we could expect no less. I understand that you were badly
mistreated before being brought here? You are fortunate that we found
you in time. The madman would have killed you, I am certain of it."
His attitude had almost
caused Almaz to forget her peril and the shackles that held her -- but
now all returned in a rush.
"Who are you?" she
sobbed. "What do you want with me? Why must you torment me?"
"Torment you?"
The man seemed honestly disturbed by her outcry. "I have no wish
to torment you, little one. We are Priests of the Tiger, followers
of Ti, god of the hunt. You have been chosen as his bride, as our
bride. This is an honour, not a torment."
"But I do not wish
to be his bride!"
A mournful shadow passed
over the priest's finely-chiselled features and he shook his head sadly.
Reaching out, his fingers barely brushed the golden shackle confining one
of Almaz's wrists -- and it fell away with a brief clatter as if alive.
One by one, he touched her remaining fetters, each dropping from the slender
limb it confined, until she lay free upon the altar.
"There," he said, stepping
back. "There is no need for chains here. We are not monsters.
It is better if you give yourself freely to us."
Abruptly, his eyes
glazed with sudden reminiscence and his voice took on a sad and longing
tone. "There was a time, little one, a thousand years ago, when we
did not have to hide in the shadows, when we did not have to seek brides
in the night. Then the brides came to us. Perhaps not entirely
willingly, but they came just the same. Then it was a privilege to
be called...nay, a fulfilment. But now...now it has come to this.
Where once our god was worshipped from the Pearl Coast to the gilded walls
of Kari Zak, where once our god was honoured and feared throughout the
Zomorrod Empire, today even the people of Bint al Sahara are loath to speak
his name. Oh, these are bleak times indeed when men turn from their
god and know him not. Still, such times have been before and were
transcended. I foresee a future when the Tiger will again be mighty,
and mortal rulers will bend their knees as they did in former days."
For a space he had
seemed lost in his melancholy reflections, but now he turned back to Almaz,
and made a sweeping gesture with his arms.
"Until that time we
priests make do as we must, isolated in our temple, worshipping our god,
Ti, and fulfilling his desires. We are but the tools of the immortal
one, allowing him to touch where he has no hands."
There was no mockery
in his tone, and Almaz was reminded of Zehabi's scornful claim that some
of the priests truly believed in what they did. For some reason,
this frightened her all the more.
"You have no cause
to fear me, little one," he assured her, brushing a hand gently through
her glossy hair. "Know that what Barak does, he does for a higher
purpose than mere mortals can possibly comprehend. And if at times
I may cause you pain, know that this is the will of Ti, that the will of
Ti is the will of the Tiger, and that you are blessed -- for you are
the Tiger's bride!"
And, so saying, he
made a peculiar sign in the air with his hand, then stepped to a gold-wrought
brazier beside the altar. Though Almaz told herself that the brazier
had stood there all along, she knew this was not so. Curling wisps
of grey-blue smoke rose from within the silver-worked rim, and, even at
a distance, she could feel the white-hot heat from the coals it contained.
She felt the chill hand of hysteria take hold of her beating heart, and
blinding panic rose within her.
Barak again made signs,
causing the smoke to writhe and disperse. Then he reached into the
brazier and brought out a slim, metal rod. The end was twisted into
a curious lozenge shape, with a circle in the center. It glowed a
fiery red.
Almaz whimpered and
tried to move, to twist off the altar, but she found her body would not
respond to her will. He had lied. She remained chained as surely
as if material shackles confined her. She could only watch with wide,
terrified eyes as the small brand was brought steadily toward her, blue
smoke coiling from the glowing end.
"Before the rituals
may begin," the priest explained with appalling tranquillity, "you must
wear the Tiger's Eye."
"Please..." Almaz sobbed
desperately. "No..."
He pressed the hot
brand to the soft curve of her hip. She bit her lip at the sudden
searing pain, her breath sucking quickly through white, clenched teeth.
A cry sounded in her throat, like the whining of a small animal, more of
despair than pain -- and then the pain eased and the priest replaced the
brand amongst the coals.
"Now," he said placidly,
"we are ready to begin."
Still shivering, Almaz's
mind raced, tears squeezing from her eyes. Frantically, she sought
some escape, or at least, some means to postpone her fate. Before
she knew what she was going to say, words tumbled from her quivering lips
in a desperate cry: "Why do you fear the sarcophagus?"
Instantly, the priest
paused and his eyes leapt to the stone container. She saw it again.
She had not been mistaken. Fear shone in that look.
"The sarcophagus?
What do you know of the sarcophagus?"
Almaz swallowed tightly,
stalling for time. She had no idea whether what she knew could help
her or not, but it was her only hope. Obviously, he was frightened
of the contents of that container -- but why? She remembered what
Zehabi had told her -- how the sarcophagus contained the results of the
first part of the spell of resurrection, a spell worked upon the ashes
of Ti, the real Ti, an ancient magician who lived five thousand
years before the first emperor of Zomorrod. The contents, Zehabi
had said, were unpleasant to look upon, for the magician had delved too
long in the black arts and was no longer entirely human.
"Speak!" The
priest had transformed. His voice was no longer soothing or gentle,
but caught her like an angry blow. He took a threatening step toward
the altar, hands rising menacingly, eyes wide. "What do you know
of the sarcophagus?"
"I know that Zehabi
used the spell of resurrection!" cried Almaz.
The priest stopped
as if he had encountered a wall. He gasped and again his eyes jerked
to the stone sarcophagus. Suddenly Almaz found that she could move
the fingers of one hand a little, although the rest of her remained frozen.
Whatever force confined her was evidently controlled by the priest's thoughts.
If she could distract him...
"I know she found ashes
in a canopic jar hidden in a dark turret of this tower."
"Yes!" the priest hissed,
fear shivering in his voice. "I knew it. Oh, curse the day
we brought that harlot into our temple! She meddles with powers she
does not understand. The spell of resurrection?" He looked
at her again, his features frantic. "But who does she seek to resurrect?
Tell me that! Who!"
Now Almaz could move
both her arms, albeit sluggishly. The priest did not seem to notice
even though he was staring directly at her. What would he say if
she told him the truth? Surely, he would not believe her. But
what choice did she have?
Her words tumbled from
her lips: "She told me your god was never a god at all! She said
he was a great magician who lived long ago! It is his ashes she has
used -- the ashes of Ti!"
The priest gasped,
his features gone ashen. One hand, like a claw, leapt to his face
as if to ward off a dazzling light.
"No!" he cried.
"You lie!"
Almaz had nearly complete
control of her body now. As he sprang at her, she twisted lithely
and rolled off the altar onto the floor. But he did not seek to press
the attack, remaining as he had fallen, arms on the altar. His burning
eyes shot to the sarcophagus, beads of sweat starting out on his forehead.
"It is the truth,"
Almaz insisted. "That is what she told me -- I swear it!"
"It cannot be.
She lied to you -- she must have!" The priest clambered over
the altar, as if there was not even time to walk around it. For a
moment, Almaz thought he was pursuing her -- but then he stumbled past
and to the sarcophagus. It was obvious to the girl that this revelation
was not entirely a surprise to the priest, whatever he might want to pretend.
Clearly, in his soul, he had suspected something of all this. It
was merely the unavoidable confirmation which she provided which so shook
his reason -- that and the knowledge that proof, final proof, lay in the
container before him.
He had only to open
it...
With a desperate shout,
he grasped the carven stone lid and heaved it off, so it tumbled to the
floor, shattering into heavy slabs. He drew back with a horrified
gasp, and Almaz, looking past his flowing purple robes, was able to see
what it was had frightened him.
Then, seeing it, she
screamed. And then, sucking in a frantic breath, she screamed again.
It was these screams that the Ronin heard in the crystal chamber far, far below...
After Almaz's encounter
with the woman, Zehabi, she had been left alone. None had entered
the dream-like, veiled chamber in the Tower of the Tiger, and no sound
had disturbed its crypt-like silence. There had been no means by
which to measure the passage of time. Even an ebony candle which
burned steadily at the head of the altar had remained a constant height,
as if in subtle mockery of natural law.