The oysterman laughed.<\/p>\n
\u201cLa! My wife is become fisher and river-priest all in one! The local beds are fallow, but down-river is teeming. I\u2019ve never seen so many rock-clams, either! Meat\u2019s crap, but the shell-market loves them. If the Storm King keeps pounding our shores, I\u2019ll need a second crew! Besides, men don\u2019t fall off barges, my fretting fishwife.\u201d Leaning down, he kissed his wife\u2019s frowning mouth, and stroked her cheek with the back of one work-and-sun gnarled hand. \u201cMama Kokoya and I are old friends; I give Her blood, she feeds my traps. It\u2019s a good arrangement. She\u2019ll see me home safe.\u201d<\/p>\n
Those were the last words Nakia ever heard her husband speak.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Wave-Serpent<\/em> slid along the bloated and angry river, its banks hidden beneath the overflow \u2013 sluggish, muddy waters simply disappeared into the dense forest. The rains having passed \u2013 at least for now \u2013 the forest had come back to life. Along the shores, a plethora of river-birds contentedly raided the oyster beds; watching them feast was torture for the empty bellies of the sixty men on board.<\/p>\n At the stern, Sarrumos Kor\u00f3du slumped wearily beside his first mate, who held the steering oar with the same grim determination a man might grasp a spear while confronting an angry cave-bear.\u00a0 They made a frightful pair. Sarrumos’s emerald eyes sagged, heavy from lack of sleep, and his thick, auburn hair was tangled in knots. His cloak of finely-woven llama wool was rumpled, sea-salt encrusted, and hung limply from the wide knot that kept it closed at his right shoulder. Dried spatters of blood-stained blue wool and coppery skin alike.<\/p>\n The mate, already a homely man with a short chin, long, slightly bulbous nose and pock-marked face, was no prettier for either the hastily applied stitches in the shaved scalp over his left ear. His already homely appearance was made ghoulish by the thick clots of dried blood darkening the scarlet-dyed fringe of hair that ran in a vertical stripe over the center of his head and down to his shoulders in the warrior fashion of the Hichitwa, a tribe of the far distant northern forests, where it was said the rain sometimes fell as ice. One of the hands clenching the long steering oar was badly bruised and swollen, making him wince each time he was forced to set-to with his entire body to keep the ship from drifting beam-on to the current. Glancing to his companion, the corner of the mate\u2019s mouth twitched, as if fighting to suppress words.<\/p>\n It failed.<\/p>\n \u201cCaptain, the men have neither eaten for two days, nor drunk water since last night.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNor have I. Nor you, Ollad,\u201d Sarrumos answered. \u201cThey will endure, as must we all.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe Kokoya\u2019s water is sweet, why not \u2013 \u201c<\/p>\n \u201cIs it, Ollad? How many villages have you seen along the river, these past two days?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNone.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWith good reason! There are precious few rivers above<\/em> ground in Waht\u0113hmall\u00e1n, even less whose water can be drunk. At the best of times, the Kokoya is a brackish fen for much of its length, with only the pretense of a current.\u00a0 Mostly, the southrons drink from wells and underground streams.<\/p>\n \u201cThose rains came hard and fast off the sea; this water\u2019s at least half-salt right now, and what isn\u2019t salt is mud<\/em>. We must travel a little further inland before we can refill our casks.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThen perhaps it is better to give them a drink from what remains, Captain, lest it turn ugly. Men will withstand many hardships in silence, but thirst is a relentless demon that maddens the mind.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, it is,\u201d Sarrumos agreed, his left hand rubbing his weary eyes. Blinking, he looked up and suddenly shifted his long, bronze sword in its crimson scabbard, bringing its hilt close to hand.<\/p>\n \u201cTzatlin\u2014get back there!\u201d he roared, hand slipping to sword hilt as he rose. The source of his anger, one of the corsairs, looking twice as wretched as the captain, halted in mid-stride towards the water cask. For a moment he stood still, eyes locked on his leader\u2019s in defiance. Then, his eyes fell in defeat and he returned to the oar-bench, grumbling.<\/p>\n \u201cMiserable bastard has lost his mind,\u201d someone muttered.<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re going to die of thirst \u2013 on a fucking river<\/em>,\u201d another growled.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, he needs to sleep sometime,\u201d said a third.<\/p>\n Sarrumos sighed in resignation. This part of captaincy he could do without. Squaring his shoulders, he slid his sword free of its scabbard, filling his hand with an arm\u2019s length of good, Naakali bronze. He pointed the blade at the discontent who\u2019d made the implicit threat.<\/p>\n \u201cBring me that man!\u201d he commanded,<\/p>\n There was no response, and for a moment, mutiny seemed imminent. Then Ollad had let go the steering oar and taken up his short bow, setting a copper-tipped arrow to its string. Four corsairs rose from their places and fell upon their fellow, dragging him out from his place amongst the benches and hustled him aft towards the raised half-deck at the tiller.<\/p>\n The malcontent glared up at Sarrumos. He was Chok Mayaabi by the look of him, as was most of the crew \u2014 dark-skinned, dark-eyed, with thick, straight black hair; half a head shorter than the captain, stockily built and more than a little bow-legged.<\/p>\n And there\u2019s the problem. He could be <\/em>any of them.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cWell, Che Maaj, what have you to say?\u201d Sarrumos demanded.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve already said it,\u201d the sailor answered defiantly. \u201cYou drive us up this river to our deaths. Better we stayed out in the bay.\u201d<\/p>\n Sarrumos laughed, hand on hip, gesturing airily with his sword. It was a mirth he did not feel. As captain, he led by acclaim, bluster and, as he\u2019d now remind them, sometimes fear.<\/p>\n \u201cThink so? Then perhaps you<\/em> should be captain \u2013 in which wise we\u2019d all now be dead<\/em>. If the storms hadn\u2019t finished us, another Kaketzew\u00e1ni patrol would have. Perhaps you\u2019ve noticed, Che Maaj,\u201d he asked, voice booming \u2013 his words were not for the sailor, but the entire crew, \u201cthat the princes of the Four Kingdoms grow increasingly anxious to be rid of us? That was not a patrol \u2013 that was a trio of military ships, actively hunting for corsairs. Hunting for us<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n Surrumos dropped lightly down to the main deck and lightly poked the corsair\u2019s chest with his sword.<\/p>\n \u201cDo you disagree?\u201d<\/p>\n Che Maaj said nothing, merely glowered recalcitrantly.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s a fine glare you have! I like it \u2013 it shows ferocity. But I wonder, Che Maaj, would those angry peepers have won us through that trap off the coast of K\u2019ichecha? Would they have taken the salt haul from Itaapa or captured the kakao<\/em> bound for Tukolatl? I think not.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat all means nothing if we die of thirst, while sitting on a gods-cursed river<\/em>,\u201d the man snarled. \u201cWe\u2019ve survived misadventure after misadventure, Sarrumos \u2013 but we\u2019ve only had those misadventures because the gods hate you!\u201d<\/p>\n Somewhere a pair of cranes argued angrily over mussels. But on the Wave-Serpent<\/em>\u2019s deck, all had grown deathly still.<\/p>\n When, at last, Sarrumos spoke, his voice was soft, calm. Reasonable.<\/p>\n \u201cIt may be that they do. But let us see how well the river-gods love you<\/em>.\u201d Suddenly seizing the Chok Mayaabi sailor by topknot and arm, the captain spun, hurling the surprised man over the low rail, sending him sprawling headfirst into the Kokoya\u2019s muddy waters.<\/p>\n Several of the men rose from their benches, angry words on their lips, only to stop, mid-motion as a copper-tipped arrow slammed into the bench between them. Others ran to the rail and made to throw a rope to their sputtering companion as the ship drifted past.<\/p>\n \u201cStep away!\u201d Sarrumos roared as Ollad took aim, fletched death already set to string. \u201cChe Maaj has decided he is his own captain. A captain without a ship, as it seems.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019ll drown!\u201d someone called.<\/p>\n \u201cHe might at that,\u201d the Naakali said with a false nonchalance. \u201cBut that is his own affair. Perhaps the gods\u2019 as well. He\u2019s no crewman of mine.\u201d Turning from the rail, ignoring the sputtering sailor\u2019s cries, he faced his men, handsome face turned hard, mouth set in a thin line. Atop the raised poop, Ollad had set another arrow to bow, daring any of the sailors to mutiny.<\/p>\n \u201cEnough!\u201d Sarrumos shouted. \u201cYou hunger, you thirst. I do too! But Baak lies ahead, a city whose Ix-Ajaw is my friend. Give me an afternoon of hard rowing, and I will crack the water cask wide. Row and drink. Or sit there glowering, and Gods Above bare witness, I will throw that barrel into the river, so Che Maaj can skiff on it out all the way out to Tzuk\u00e1baal Bay. Which will it be?\u201d<\/p>\n Thirty oars slid out through their ports and dipped into the muddy waters. Lowering his bow, Ollad turned back to the steering oar, watching Che Maaj, crying curses in three different languages, swim towards the thick-forested shore. The mate\u2019s eyes met those of his captain, who watched after the swimmer.<\/p>\n \u201cWe leave him?\u201d<\/p>\n For a moment, half a dozen different emotions passing behind those bright, jadeite eyes.<\/p>\n The moment passed.<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019ll take the Serpent around that bend. If he proves determined to follow, we\u2019ll haul him aboard.\u201d Turning his head forward, Sarrumos urged the rowers on, his sword hilt beating time on the last water-cask. Satisfied, Ollad said nothing.<\/p>\n Behind them, Che Maaj splashed noisily towards the flooded shore. No one, not even the swimmer, noticed the long, misshapen black hands rising from the water.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The former crewman was barely lost from sight of their stern when they first spotted the fishing barge from the bow. An old, flat-bottomed craft used throughout Tehanuwak, it lay partly out of the water, wedged into the mud. The rope of her drag anchor dangled limply in the water, suggesting no weight hung below. Ordinarily, Sarrumos would have had them row past but he looked at the heavy nets dragging in the water, then back to his hungry, grumbling men.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s an oysterman barge! One with full nets. That\u2019s food<\/em>, boys \u2013 and maybe water as well! Ollad, steer us close, but not onto the mud!\u201d<\/p>\n Sheathing his sword, he moved between the rowers to the starboard bow, as the Wave-Serpent <\/em>cautiously paddled towards it. Thoughts of food and water first on their mind, none of his crowd thought to ask why a fishing-barge should be run aground and abandoned. Or if they thought it, they did not give it voice, perhaps afraid their captain would turn the ship away.<\/p>\n As they drew near, oarsmen near the bow rose and used their oars to keep the galley\u2019s beak from ramming into the mud, while Sarrumos himself lassoed the barge. \u201cPechotl,\u201d he said, calling to a lanky Kaketzew\u00e1ni, \u201cchoose two others and come with me. Ollad, hold the ship steady.\u201d<\/p>\n Once they had tied off, the four men \u2013 Sarrumos, Pechotl and a pair of Chok Mayaabi \u2013 nimbly leapt the short distance onto the barge\u2019s flat deck. Pechotl eyes fell first to the twin nets, still dragging heavily in the water. He licked his lips hungrily.<\/p>\n Sarrumos did not share his enthusiasm. First across, no sooner had he set foot on the barge than he was startled to see its boards were covered in large smears of drying blood, along with scattered clumps of human hair, matted in gore.\u00a0 A large clay cookpot that the fishermen would use when they came ashore, lay in a corner nearby, unharmed, but spattered in blood.<\/p>\n \u201cOn your guards, men!\u201d the captain called, sliding his sword free of its scabbard. He heard the others gasp as they registered what lay before them.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat happened here?\u201d Pechotl gasped.<\/p>\n \u201cMurder, most likely,\u201d the Naakali captain replied quietly. He could hear men from the Wave-Serpent<\/em> calling, demanding to know what was amiss. He held his left hand up, angled back at the crew, bidding them quiet, then gestured his fellow boarders forward. As they moved towards the small cabin at the barge\u2019s rear, they saw that the floorboards were scored with deep gorges, as if made with the blade of a knife or sharp hatchet \u2013 or claws.<\/p>\n \u201cJaguar?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe great cats can swim, but they do not like the water,\u201d Sarrumos said, crouching before one of the indentations, which was more than half-filled with blood. \u201cIt would not attack while the fishers were on the river. But something<\/em> made these marks, and I do not think it was men. Whatever it was, it was none too gentle with its prey. Could a caiman do this?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d one of the Chok Mayaabi sailors replied, his voice soft, uncertain. \u201cThey pull their prey below, to twist and drown. Little blood. And\u2014\u201d he gestured to the gouges and shook his head.<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s be away from this place,\u201d Pechotl suggested, his hunger forgotten.<\/p>\n It was an excellent idea, but Sarrumos was having none of it. He dipped his finger in one of the deeper pools of gore. The rubbery skin on its surface broke, showing the blood below to be tacky, but still wet.<\/p>\n \u201cThe blood is not that dry, even with the air as steamy as it has been, this happened recently \u2013 a day or so. At most<\/em>. Whatever caused this, may still be near \u2013 I want more answers before moving blindly upriver.\u201d<\/p>\n Without waiting to see if he were accompanied, Sarrumos traced the wide, bloody smear, made as if dragging something large back to the cabin, a simple, peaked lean-to of tanned deer hide. Glancing in beneath the canopy to what he had expected to find an empty shelter, the Naakali captain let out a cry and leapt back, sword sliding swiftly into his hand. His move startled the sailors — Pechotl stepping forward with his spear, while one of the others stumbled half-way back towards the Wave-Serpent<\/em>, before he even realized what he\u2019d done. Paying them no mind, Sarrumos stepped forward again, and leaned forward, reaching in with his sword to prod\u2026something.<\/p>\n \u201cCaptain?\u201d one of the corsairs asked. \u201cWhat is it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAn oysterman. A dead one,\u201d he said it as if he were surprised.<\/p>\n \u201cWas it a jaguar?\u201d Pechotl asked, stepping closer.<\/p>\n \u201cNo\u2026it was\u2026he is unmarked.\u201d Rising, he sheathed his sword. \u201cHere, one of you help me drag him out into the light.\u201d<\/p>\n The third sailor came forward and together, they crouched down beside the small shelter, reached in, and dragged its occupant forth. The corpse of a man, dressed in little more than woven rope sandals, loincloth, and short, cowl-like poncho, slid into view. Seeing that the corpse was neither horrific to behold, nor rising in unlife, the other two men pressed in closer.<\/p>\n Naturally coppery-brown skin had assumed death\u2019s pallor, and the body had already gone through rigor and was relaxed once more. But there was neither sign nor scent of putrescence, confirming Sarrumos\u2019s guess that no more than a day had passed. There was no blood that any could see, though some swelling and bruising at the throat. An empty knife sheath hung from a cord baldric, as did a water-gourd. The captain went to his knees at the dead man\u2019s side and began inspecting the body.<\/p>\n \u201cBut, where did the blood \u2013 gods!\u201d Pechotl gasped. He had seen what they all had. If the dead man\u2019s flesh was not torn, that was not to say that his body was unviolated. A pair or dark, ragged holes lay where once there had been eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cGods? I think not. Demons? Perhaps,\u201d Sarrumos said, dryly.\u00a0 \u201cAt least, of the human sort.\u201d He continued to look the body over, lifting a limp hand. \u201cThe fingernails are gone. All of them.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe fingernails? Why?\u201d<\/p>\n Sarrumos peered under the canopy, ducking hands and head inside as if searching for something. After a few moments he sat back on his heels, his right hand holding something jadeite, that fit in his palm, the left rubbing at the small, peaked auburn beard on his chin, as if trying to recall some lost knowledge. If so, he did not find it, and slipping the object within his tunic, he turned back to his men.<\/p>\n \u201cWho\u2019s to say what ugliness men will do to one another when their blood runs hot? Perhaps he was a rival in trade? Or in love? A cuckolded husband seeking revenge?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe seems old for that,\u201d Pechotl argued.<\/p>\n \u201cThen maybe an obstinate father, refusing a match?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat does not explain how<\/em> he died,\u201d the first Chok Mayaabi said.<\/p>\n \u201cDrowning, I think,\u201d Sarrumos said. \u201cProbably held face down in the water.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd the blood?\u201d Pechotl asked skeptically.<\/p>\n \u201cA second oysterman, I suppose. One who went into the water, his body lost.\u201d It was a reasonable, logical answer, yet it did not sit well, even as he proposed it. \u201cOr perhaps \u2013\u201d<\/p>\n He never finished his thought, for just then a cry went out from the Wave-Serpent<\/em>. He looked back to his galley and saw Ollad standing in the raised stern, pointing up-river.<\/p>\n \u201cCanoes! Many of them, and their men dressed for war!\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n \u201cThere are at least twenty of them in each of those boats,\u201d Ollad said, scowling. His hand was on the steering oar, but his bow and quiver lay close to hand.<\/p>\n \u201cGod Above spit on me! I see two more, beyond, coming about the bend.\u201d<\/p>\n He and the other men had hurried back the Wave-Serpent<\/em> and the galley had cast off, leaving the gory barge and its slain crewman to drift on. Thirty oars struck the water, hard, seeking to pull away from the long, low-lying canoes, dug-outs carved from the trunk of a massive ceiba<\/em> tree.<\/p>\n \u201cDid you not say that Te’pekun and Baak are often at war?\u201d Ollad asked.<\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d said Sarrumos, beating his sword furiously on the water-cask. \u201cAnd the River Folk tribes who dwell on the far bank are unpredictable and quick to take offense. But that is a lot of warriors for their villages to put out on the river unless the tribe is actively at war. In which case, gods alone know what we\u2019ve sailed into.\u201d<\/p>\n He recalled his last adventure along the Kokoya, invited on a raid by one of the River Folk\u2019s shamans. It had not ended well.<\/p>\n They rowed steadily for half an hour, but the galley was heavy; the pursuers gained for a time, then fell back, then gained once more.<\/p>\n \u201cWe are pacing them, at least,\u201d Ollad noted. Sarrumos, usually the more optimistic of the pair, was less cheered.<\/p>\n \u201cNot for long. The River Folk are fresh, and if their crafts are built for the Kokoya at flood. They will follow until our rowers tire, or our prow drives into some mud bank hidden in the high water, at which point, they will swarm us like wolves taking down a wounded stag.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA grim prophecy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot prophecy. Knowledge. I\u2019ve fought both with and against the River Folk and have seen them make war. Unless we reach Baak, our life\u2019s journey ends. Keep her more in the midstream; we need the full force of the current to work against them.\u201d<\/p>\n He resumed beating on the cask, and then, because the crew was obviously weakening, he sent Ollad down to give them drinks while he held the helm. They were tired, hungry and half dead of thirst, while their pursuers fresh. An obsidian arrow plunked into the wide steering oar, no more than a span from Sarrumoss hand, quivering in the polished wood.<\/p>\n \u201cOllad, our unwanted guests have arrived!\u201d<\/p>\n The Hichitwa first mate made his way back to the helm and snatched up his bow. Pinching an arrow with thumb and finger, he drew back to his chin, sighted for just a moment, then fired. The arrow splashed into the water, well-short of the first canoe.<\/p>\n \u201cMy bow cannot match theirs for range, Captain.\u201d<\/p>\n Sarrumos cursed, his eyes scanning between their pursuers and the river ahead. \u00a0He heard long, bamboo bows firing, and the whistle of death in the air.<\/p>\n \u201cDown!\u201d<\/p>\n A dozen shafts fell around the galley\u2019s rear. One grazed Ollad\u2019s ear, another struck the raised stern, just short of Sarrumos\u2019 head as he ducked down. A cry of pain went out from the rowing benches.<\/p>\n \u201cGet it out!\u201d a pirate cried, staring in horror at the arrow transfixing his hand to the oar.<\/p>\n Chancing being shot, Sarrumos stood tall in the stern and shouted out to his men, urging them on. \u201cWe race Lord Death Himself! Row harder! Row!\u201d<\/p>\n More arrows swept into the crowded galley drawing blood as one man slumped, his neck transfixed; another screamed as an arrow dropped down into the top of his skull, razor-honed obsidian slicing easily through hair and scalp. But now, the attackers were drawing into Ollad\u2019s range and there was an answering yell, as a warrior tumbled back among his paddlers, a shaft driven through his eye.<\/p>\n Dividing into two columns of two, with one remaining directly behind, the canoes began overtaking the Wave-Serpent<\/em> on either side. The dugouts were simple, unseaworthy looking craft, but Sarrumos had learned to mock neither their efficacy, nor the speed and dexterity with which trained paddlers could maneuver them. \u00a0In the bow and the stern of each boat men in jaguar skins and warpaint brandished small, wooden shields and obsidian-tipped spears, exposing themselves recklessly and dancing to attract attention. One to their port took an arrow deep into his thigh for his troubles, tumbling into the river.<\/p>\n \u201cPechotl, your bow,\u201d Sarrumos cried, snatching up one of his own. \u201cKill the bravest, and perhaps we\u2019ll slow their rush to board us.\u201d He fired his first shaft at a canoe on their stern, missed, and shot again. But the gods were cruel, as often they are, and it passed between two paddlers to splash harmlessly into the river. A javelin thrown in rebuttal fell short.<\/p>\n \u201cLook! Ahead of us,\u201d Pechotl cried from the prow. \u201cMore boats!\u201d<\/p>\n A moan of despair went through the men, made worse as more arrows whistled and hummed into the galley, finding flesh with a soft, wet thwap<\/em>. One unlucky rower fell, howling with three shafts in him, all likely fatal, yet none anywhere that would kill him swiftly. Bracing a foot on the upsweeping tail of the stern, Ollad sent two arrows racing into the canoe in retaliation, then was forced to throw himself flat to avoid being cut down in return. As it was, he was clipped across the thigh, obsidian edge slicing deep through leggings and flesh.<\/p>\n Sarrumos dropped his bow and crouched down in the keel. Spying one of the galley\u2019s earthen firepots, a new idea came to mind. Crawling to the pot, he began building and fanning the small flame that burned within. Once it burned steadily, he rose, swinging the pot by its chain, an arc of fire whistling about his head as the thick palm oil roared to life.<\/p>\n Letting the chain lose, he sent the firepot flying across the air towards the lead canoe. Fortunately, his throwing proved better than his archery, and the firepot smashed against the dugout\u2019s edge, spilling its fuel on one of the paddlers, and then pouring within. The canoe began to drop back as some warriors sought to fight the fire, while others plunged overboard. Sarrumos smiled in satisfaction, then scrambled for his bow.<\/p>\n \u201cThey run,\u201d Ollad called, firing another shot at one of the canoes, which had broken its pursuit and was turning back down-river. The dugouts, even the one still battling flame, were turning back as quickly as their paddlers could drive them, fleeing not their intended prey, but the dozen or so similar craft, bristling with armed men, rushing down-river towards them. Turning towards the newcomers, Sarrumos looked at the banner post with its spray of egret and fork-tail feathers, and sighed in relief, his shoulders slumping.<\/p>\n \u201cBaak. They are warriors from Baak.\u201d He had no more idea why a Baaki war-party was on the Kokoya then he did a River Folk one, but at the moment he was too relieved to care.<\/p>\n In less than a minute the galley was surrounded with long, long canoes, similar to those of the River Folk, though shaped more at the prow, and carved and painted so that brightly-colored animal faces, neither alligator nor caiman, but perhaps related to both, glided leeringly over the water. \u00a0Chok Mayaabi war-cries whooped and howled across the air, and arrows sent an obsidian rain falling among the Wave-Serpent\u2019<\/em>s tormenters. For a moment it seemed the river would erupt in all-out battle, but then the Riverfolk canoes were turning, their rowers paddling swiftly back down-river in full retreat.<\/p>\n The largest of the Baaki vessels, more of a nobleman\u2019s barge than a war-canoe, complete with carved rails and a brightly painted fabric awning, slowly glided towards them. She was paddled by slaves, leaving the warriors onboard free to fight with javelin, sword-club and bow. In the prow was a short man, even by Chok Mayaabi standards, muscular body swathed in a jaguar-skin cloak.\u00a0 Thick, black hair was drawn up in a warrior\u2019s topknot, and his embroidered war-shirt, jade-encrusted pectoral collar, and the equally impressive pieces of jade and gold that decorated his nose, ears and lower lip proclaimed him a noble.<\/p>\n \u201cWell-met once more, Sarrumos Kor\u00f3du,\u201d the newcomer said in the western Mayaabi dialect, holding his right arm aloft as the barge drew alongside.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd to you Aapo Chaaj Kep, Jaguar and First Spear of Baak! Though how you knew to find us is a mystery.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThere is no mystery \u2013 the gods willed it so! There is trouble on the river. The River Folk are in a rage; their war parties have attacked farmsteads from Baak to Te’pekun. It is the Ix-Ajaw\u2019s will we turn the huntsmen to the hunted and send them slinking back to their villages.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat is your saying here in the south: \u2018life and freedom is his who can keep them?\u2019\u201d Sarrumos answered. \u00a0The jaguar warrior laughed at that, a deep, rumbling chuckle.<\/p>\n \u201cThat is true in all lands, I think. But yes, it seems this year the rains brought not only flood, but much anger and death. But not, it seems, for your or I this day, Sarrumos.\u201d<\/p>\n He turned to one of his underlings, a dour-looking, one-eyed man whose nose looked to have been on the wrong end of any number of fights. \u201cWhen the pursuers return, tell them to be sure that outlanders who crew it are given food and drink and treated as guests of the Ix-Ajaw. I will take Sarrumos and his man to Baak myself on the barge.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt would seem we are rescued,\u201d Ollad said dryly, as he and Sarrumos gathered their things.<\/p>\n \u201cI am remembered in Baak,\u201d the captain said, breathing heavily, blood still pounding.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd yet, we are rescued anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cGods Below! Once we sail from here, I might never eat another oyster again,\u201d Sarrumos Kor\u00f3du pronounced, to no one in particular.<\/p>\n Glancing through the mead-house\u2019s open door, Sarrumos gazed out on the river with a heavy heart. The windswept storms transformed Baak\u2019s brightly white-washed homes into a grey and barren mass of stone, the tall, narrow step-pyramids at the city\u2019s center looming ominously over all like monstrous sentinels. Frowning for the hundredth time that day, he looked with longing through the slanting rain, past the rows of moored and tarp-covered dugouts, to the low-roofed barns that held the kingdom\u2019s finest vessels, the great ceiba<\/em>-tree canoes that could easily sit fifty men, nearly the match for a Naakali galley. In that last shed was a real<\/em> galley, his<\/em> galley, now dry-docked and useless until the storms subsided.<\/p>\n With an audible sigh, Sarrumos shook his head and resumed polishing the sword that lay across his lap, anxious for something to fill his attention, beyond staring at the angry skies in a mixture of sullenness and impotent rage. The storms had kept them prisoners in Baak for over a ten-day and showed no signs of abating. The \u201cTranquil Palace of Welcomed Foreigners\u201d in which he was lodged, was little more than a large, modestly maintained stone house comprising a dozen, austere guest rooms, a kitchen and a small garden, with servants to cook meals and launder clothes. It was enough, and far better than had been in the offering for his men. Common houses were rare in the southlands; most travelers either stayed with clan-relatives, or simply camped at night on public land beyond the city wall, which was no real option when the rains came.<\/p>\n He\u2019d found a few beds-for-let scattered throughout the city for the Chok Maayabi members of his crew.\u00a0 The rest were living, unhappily, in the same warehouse that housed the Wave-Serpent, <\/em>and Sarrumos had hired a disagreeable old fishwife and her sons to cook for them. He smiled at that, wondering how many of the sailors realized that he\u2019d chosen her precisely<\/em> because the only appealing thing about her was her beans and rice.<\/p>\n Fortunately, if the south lacked inns, men the world over liked to drink. There were numerous vendors selling both fine balch\u00e9<\/em>-mead and, if one were desperate enough, a passable palm-wine, and Sarrumos had become a connoisseur of them all. He didn\u2019t particularly like<\/em> the drinks on offer at this mead-house, but from here he could keep an eye on his ship \u2013 and her crew.<\/p>\n \u201cAre you listening to me?\u201d<\/p>\n The Naakali turned to look at his first mate and blinked, as if just seeing him for the first time. He smiled wryly.<\/p>\n \u201cNot really, Ollad, no.\u201d He looked to the bowl of half-eaten food lying before him and pushed it aside in disgust. \u201cHave I mentioned yet how sick I am of oysters?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEvery day, for more days then I have fingers. But as I<\/em> said, Captain, we will have greater problems than oysters, if the storms do not abate.\u201d Drawing on a lit pipe \u2013 the Chok Maayabi preferred to smoke their tobacco in sikar<\/em>-rolls, but neither man had developed a taste for it \u2013 he blew smoke circles and offered it to his captain. \u201cThe men have no purpose and nothing to anticipate. They just sit. Sit and think\u2026 unwise thoughts.\u201d<\/p>\n Sarrumos sighed in understanding. The Wave-Serpent<\/em>\u2019s crew were bold souls, but they were neither soldiers nor merchant-marines, and discipline was as alien to them as the power of flight. Left to sit idle, their hands and minds turned to dice, tiles, drinks and flesh, in no particular order beyond the more they drank, the less concern as to how they achieved indulging their other vices. Two mead-houses were now closed to them thanks to the drunken ramblings of Nopaltek, a mixed-race Naakali like himself, who\u2019d managed to cause half a dozen fights in half as many days, before suddenly disappearing \u2013 likely murdered and, in the short time they had been here, with no end of people who might want him so. Taavi was nursing a lame hand, broken by Ollad\u2019s war-club after he caught him thrusting it up a young maid\u2019s skirt as she was trying to walk past him on the open street. Two days later, Sarrumos told him he\u2019d geld him himself if he caught him eyeing their landlord\u2019s young daughter again. Arguably, the threat had lost some of its effectiveness when he had to explain what a \u201cgelding\u201d was.<\/p>\n It would be a fair-sight easier for my crew not to be judged half-witted, violent scum, <\/em>the captain thought grumpily, if most of them weren\u2019t, indeed, half-witted, violent scum<\/em>.<\/p>\n Putting his sword down on the woven petate<\/em>-mat beside him, Sarrumos puffed on the offered pipe, then passed it back. \u201cI know. We needs-be moving, before one of them does something truly stupid. I have been thinking to ask the Ix-Ajaw for a commission, perhaps \u2013\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFine time for us to find you then, Captain!\u201d a hearty voiced interrupted.<\/p>\n It was Aapo Chaaj Kep, but he was not alone. Besides the stocky little man was a lean fellow whose skin seemed so weather-beaten that he might be thirty-five or sixty.\u00a0 Swathed in a bright feather-cloak and adorned at neck, ankles and wrist with a collection of gold, jade, coral and polished bone trinkets, he seemed some sort of priest. The man was studying him so carefully, that Sarrumos felt like a turkey being appraised for his value as dinner.<\/p>\n \u201cDoes something in my semblance perplex you\u2026Great One?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI was given to believe you were Naakali. But\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMy mother was a Masetek concubine, but my father\u2019s Naakali enough,\u201d Sarrumos interrupted, not trying to disguise the bitterness in his voice. \u201cHere in Waht\u0113mallan, I am a green-eyed, Naakali devil. In the Empire, I am a \u2018brown-skinned runt\u2019. Make of me what you will, but take me as I am.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhich is?\u201d the priest asked mildly.<\/p>\n \u201cWeary of banter. We have business?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe do,\u201d Aapo Chaaj Kek interjected smoothly. \u201cOn behalf of the Ix-Ajaw herself.\u201d<\/p>\n Sarrumos looked to Ollad, who said nothing, merely shrugged, and passed him back the pipe.<\/p>\n \u201cI am honored Itzel Xac Kel has decided to remember me, and the service I once did her family.\u201d Ollad winced. Insults about his paternity made the captain defensive, and when he was defensive, he could be \u2026 difficult.<\/p>\n The priest clucked his teeth. \u201cSay rather, she has chosen to forget the slight you did the Princess Nauxika.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFor which, we are all grateful, and reconciled<\/em>,\u201d Aapo hurriedly interrupted. He motioned to his cadaverous companion, \u201cAnd this is Tajoom, Second Priest \u2013\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFirst Priest now,\u201d the other interrupted. Aapo\u2019s eyes flashed angrily, but he remained outwardly calm.<\/p>\n \u201cIndeed. First Priest of Ah-Hulneb, Father-of-Rivers, and Kokoya his Daughter. It is in part, on the recent change in Tajoom-itzat\u2019s<\/em> status, that we come.\u201d Tajoom nodded, a withered smile clinging to his narrow lips, dark eyes glittering like fine obsidian.<\/p>\n \u201cThere is a matter wherein we need your\u2026possible<\/em>\u2026Naakali expertise.\u201d He emphasized the word strangely.<\/p>\n Sarrumos puffed the pipe and smiled crookedly. \u201cEven if I am a short, dark-skinned mongrel, eh? Alright, what is it you need advice on? If it is how to cast bronze, I\u2019m afraid I have not the faintest idea. It\u2019s copper and tin, which I\u2019m told you don\u2019t have a lick of, down here, and then you melt it all up in some combination\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt concerns a murder,\u201d Tajoom interrupted.<\/p>\n \u201cSeveral,\u201d Aapo added, his voice growing soft.<\/p>\n They have him, now<\/em>, Ollad thought sadly. Curiosity always has the better of him<\/em>.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd these murders concern me how<\/em>, exactly?\u201d he looked back and forth between the men, \u201cor, for that matter, are worth priestly attention, because\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n Tajoom shook his head. \u201cThese are not question to be answered in a mead-house. Come and see; tell us what you<\/em> see. Then we will share what little we know.\u201d<\/p>\n Passing the pipe to Ollad, Sarrumos rose to his feet, slipped his now brilliantly polished sword into its scabbard and slipped the baldric over his head. Ollad watched them leave, staring at the open door for a time once they were gone. Sighing, he began repacking his pipe.<\/p>\n He can\u2019t help himself. Like a moth to flame.<\/em><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Waht\u0113mallek cities were odd, rambling affairs, almost like a conglomeration of smaller settlements, united around a singular, orderly acropolis. Baak\u2019s administrative heart was a tidy affair of stone palaces, temples and the sacred ball-court, ordered around a central plaza, all defended by a rather formidable, sloped stone wall, but surely no more than a thousand or so lived within the complex, which attached to a second plaza, less impressive than the first but twice its size, serving as grand market, meeting place and military training yard. A loose grid of paved streets held the homes of lesser nobles, merchants and artisans. Tucked behind the protections of a deep ditch, sloped, earthen ramparts and a low stone wall, the city\u2019s urbane citizens took great pride in what, Sarrumos was told repeatedly, was the \u201creal\u201d Baak. Looking at the city\u2019s defenses, the captain thought whichever was the \u201creal\u201d city, a single Naakali legion would make no more than a lazy afternoon\u2019s work of conquering it.<\/p>\n But the city thrived on the hard labor of the common folk who dwelt beyond the protective walls, in a haphazard cluster of self-sufficient villages of packed-mud huts united to each other, and to the city-center, by raised, earthen roads. It was to such a village they walked now. Clinging tenaciously to the river it was comprised mostly of peasants working the fields watered by the annual flooding, and a sizeable community of fishermen.<\/p>\n Nobleman, priest and pirate made a strange fellowship, but less so than what greeted them as they reached the village outskirts. A cacophony of drumming, rattles, bull-roarers, and human wailing greeted their ears, well before they spied the mourners, perhaps a hundred or more, their faces painted white with heavy chia-paste, heads shrouded with dull, red shards, gathered in the village-center. One of Lord Death\u2019s owl-priests danced about a bier upon which, even from here, a pair of bodies could be seen.\u00a0 Seeing them approach, some of the mourners fell silent, but others were lost in their laments.<\/p>\n Tajoom drew aside a sun-wizened man at the edge of the mourners. After a flurry of words, he slipped into the crowd and returned with an even more grizzled elder. Greetings were exchanged, and the tall priest gestured his companions over.<\/p>\n \u201cYeh, I found \u2018em,\u201d the fisherman was saying in Chok Mayaabi, his dialect and accent difficult for Sarrumos to follow.\u00a0 \u201cI get to pullin\u2019 up the nets like I do e\u2019ery morn, \u2018cep they won\u2019 come. No. So, I says to myself it must be caugh\u2019 on roots, or some big ri\u2019er fish wha\u2019s caught itself \u2013 which-wise, Mama Kokoya be smilin\u2019 on me and mine for-sures.\u201d<\/p>\n Tajoom nodded impatiently.<\/p>\n \u201cBut it was no fish,\u201d he prompted.<\/p>\n \u201cNo! But I didn\u2019 knows it yet, so I pull, and when it won\u2019 come up, I get my sons, and together, we gets the nets up, and see there be two<\/em> great, pale fish! But then I sees hair, and\u2026\u201d he paused, licking dry lips, eyes seeing into the past for a long moment. Then he looked up, eyes wide. \u201cThen I sees a hand hanging through \u2013 a man\u2019s hand. And the face\u2026it\u2019s Aakabe\u2019s, only\u2026only\u2026\u201d His voice trailed off.<\/p>\n Without so much as a word of comfort, Tajoom turned back to his companions.<\/p>\n \u201cShall we see what we have?\u201d<\/p>\n Seeing himself dismissed, the fisherman slipped back into the circle of mourners, shaking his head. Trying to ignore the mourners\u2019 hostile glares, Sarrumos passed through the crowd with his companions and moved to stand by the bier. He gazed down on the corpses and winced. The victims were young men, no more than their early twenties, though with their heads wrapped in red, funerary cloth to hold their jaws shut, faces painted with cinnabar, it was hard to say much more.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat am I supposed to be seeing?\u201d he asked his companions.<\/p>\n \u201cLook more closely, to the hands and face,\u201d Tajoom rasped.<\/p>\n He understood, even before he looked, and looking, his assumption was confirmed as he saw the deep scratches the red cinnabar chalk could not entirely hide. \u201cIt is like the skiff.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes. Their fingernails are also missing.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd, you bring me here to see this because\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n Looking uncomfortable, Aapo Chaaj Kep held his hands up, shaking his head. \u201cLet these folks mourn their dead, and we may speak as we walk. Come.\u201d He gestured away from the bier, and they again slipped between the mourners, whose glared openly, but held their thoughts to themselves, clearly afraid to antagonize the mighty of Baak.<\/p>\n Walking out onto the causeway of raised earth and crushed gravel that linked the city\u2019s scattered settlements, Sarrumos saw they were taking a different route back, heading towards the city\u2019s political center. \u201cWill either of you, tell me now, why it was important I see a pair of dead fishermen?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSoon enough,\u201d Tajoom said, a small, half-grin curling his near-lipless mouth. The nobleman\u2019s frown had only deepened as they walked, and Sarrumos\u2019s sword-hand itched as he felt his pulse quicken. He reminded himself that he was armed, and the warrior and priest had come without any sort of retinue, an odd choice if they meant to take him captive.<\/p>\n Passing through a city gate, their destination was soon apparent: a pyramid, painted in aquamarine, brilliant green and deep blue, its base decorated in frescoes of river birds, eels, caiman and leaping fish. The temple stood as close to the river\u2019s edge as the city wall allowed, with a large pool at the center of its own, walled courtyard.\u00a0 Between the piscine motifs and the way the acolytes bowed and scurried at Tajoom\u2019s approach, Sarrumos presumed this was the divine house of Ah-Hulneb, Father-of-Rivers.<\/p>\n It was not to the steep-sided pyramid, but a side building, that the priest brought them; a priestly dormitory built as a single, long hall of cells. A pair of acolytes stood guard at the last of them, its entryway set at a right-angle to the others, nervously clutching spears that Sarrumos suspected they had little idea how to use. Seeing the First Priest, they bowed and stepped aside.<\/p>\n The chamber was large, a pair of rooms, rather than a simple cell, presumably the First Priest\u2019s quarters. It also stank heavily of copal, sulfur, and death. Passing through an antechamber that seemed both study and sitting room, they came to a comfortable looking bedroom, but the sleeper who lay on the high-piled petate<\/em>-mats would never rise again.\u00a0 Another corpse, this one bound in rich, red cotton shrouds, a heavy collar of silver, turquoise and jade adorning its shoulders, and a death-mask of leather covering the face.<\/p>\n \u201cYour predecessor?\u201d Sarrumos asked Tajoom, understanding now why Aapo had been slow to recognize the priest\u2019s new status.<\/p>\n The other man nodded, \u201cKaj\u00e1n Tep, formerly First Priest of Ah-Hulneb.\u201d<\/p>\n Stepping beside the dead First Priest, the Naakali lifted the funerary mask aside, knowing what he would find when gazing on the cinnabar-painted face below.<\/p>\n \u201cThe jewelers and gold smith will be summoned to make a proper mask, of course,\u201d Tajoom said, wrinkling his long nose in distaste, whether at the twin gaping holes that stared accusingly up at them, or at the lack of proper funeral regalia, was unclear. \u201cOnce the Revered Voice of the Father-of-River\u2019s death is made known.\u201d<\/p>\n Gazing down at the sunken, cinnabar-painted face, Sarrumos wrinkled his nose and replaced the leather mask. He was not sure what charms or potions the temple used to maintain their revered ones until their elaborate funeral rites could be performed in full, but they were clearly not enough. \u201cHis body is far from fresh. When did this happen?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThree nights ago, while the Revered Father was performing evening rites.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWho was with him?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo one,\u201d the First Priest replied. \u201cThe evening rite is generally performed alone. He was found by a servant, face down, in the reflecting pool. Including your oysterman and the two youths we just saw, that is seven dead. All taken on or near the river.\u201d Cold, dark eyes met Sarrumos\u2019s own, as one bony finger touched the side of his nose. \u201cBut perhaps you already knew this?\u201d<\/p>\n Oh<\/em>. Shit<\/em>.<\/p>\n \u201cAapo Chaaj Kek \u2013 in the past I have done good service for Itzel Xac Kel, Ix-Ajaw of Baak. Am I here now to see these things as an advisor, or a prisoner?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat remains to be seen,\u201d the First Priest said sourly, as he bent to adjust the corpse\u2019s death-mask.<\/p>\n Aapo cleared his throat. \u201cThe Ix-Ajaw recalls my friend\u2019s past deeds, and as such, bade me show you these things, and question you\u2026discreetly.\u201d<\/p>\n Sarrumos noted the nobleman\u2019s choice of words. My<\/em> friend, not her <\/em>or our<\/em>: he was indeed a suspect, and whatever sympathy or faith the commander of the queen\u2019s Jaguars might feel, he should not count on royal favor.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat exactly am I expected to know?\u201d<\/p>\n Still fussing with his predecessor\u2019s death-mask, Tajoom asked mildly over his shoulder, \u201cHave you heard of an awiztol<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n Sarrumos looked perplexed. \u201cShould I? The word \u2013 a name? \u2013 sounds Kaketzew\u00e1ni.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, I believe it is.\u201d The First Priest stood and began straightening and adjusting his own regalia. \u201cMasetek, as well. Those are the common folk of your Empire, hmm? A related people? Your mother\u2019s people, I believe you said?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIndeed.\u201d<\/p>\n Aapo Chaaj Kek\u2019s face was a mixture of guilt and frustration. Duty won out, and the stocky man stood to his full, if unimpressive height, arms folded, broad chest puffed out.<\/p>\n \u201cWe are told that the name refers to a species of river or lake demon \u2013 one said to dwell in Lake Kulwak\u00e1lko.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLake Kulwak\u00e1lko? But that\u2019s in the Valley of Azatl\u00e1n! We\u2019re weeks away! What makes you say the killer is this\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAwizotl,\u201d the First Priest corrected. \u201cAnd it is not we<\/em> who say it, but one of your own men: Nopaltek, I believe he is\u2026was called.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNopaltek? He\u2019s from the Valley, for certain, but\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, and he seemed quite certain that oysterman was killed by his native lake monster; discussed it at length, in every mead-house along the river for days…\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBefore disappearing,\u201d Sarrumos groaned.<\/p>\n \u201cCoincidence, I am sure,\u201d Tajoom said, lips curling into a smile far more predatory than reassuring.<\/p>\n \u201cSarrumos,\u201d the jaguar warrior interjected, his face grim, \u201cyou were found, by your own admission, coming from a ghost-barge, its owner slain in a most terrible way. Since then, five more have been slain, six, if we count your man, including two of my own Jaguars, and Ah-Hulneb\u2019s First Priest. The only<\/em> thing that has changed in this entire time is\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n The corsair captain thought of the still missing Che Maaj, whom he had thrown overboard himself and winced guiltily. Was it seven? Or eight? \u201cAll that has changed is the Wave-Serpent<\/em>\u2019s arrival. You think I<\/em> am behind these deaths?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIn all cases, the dead were drowned, eyes and fingernails taken, otherwise unharmed \u2013 precisely<\/em> as they are devoured by a creature said to dwell in the heart of the Naakali Empire,\u201d Tajoom interjected in a calm, reasonable, yet oh-so-accusatory tone.<\/p>\n \u201cI am no sorcerer! Besides, why would I do this?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou are a pirate,\u201d the First Priest sneered. \u201cWhy not a sorcerer as well?\u201d<\/p>\n Gobsmacked, the captain\u2019s head snapped to face the jaguar warrior, but found less sympathy than he\u2019d have hoped in Aapo Chaaj Kek\u2019s broad face.<\/p>\n \u201cYou have reminded me twice today of the past service you have done for Baak and her queen. But\u2026I am also reminded that those services also<\/em> involved sorcery \u2013 sorcery that began with your arrival.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAapo, you can\u2019t possibly \u2013\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTwo of my Jaguars are dead, and Baak has lost its First Priest \u2013 to a monster. Word will spread, and with it, panic! It needs to end, and quickly. You are not under arrest, Sarrumos, but nor, until the Ix-Ajaw decides, may you or your men leave Baak.\u201d<\/p>\n From beside the dead priest\u2019s bed, Tajoom\u2019s narrow lips curled in just the hint of a smile.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The tenday of heavy rains had sunk village life into a virtual torpor, from which it was just now awaking. The small fishing canoes and oyster barges were still beached beneath wide, palmetto-leaf canopies, but a few of the older fisherman were there, inspecting them against damage as Sarrumos and Ollad appeared. One of the men spotted them, and called an alarm to his companions, hand slipping to the obsidian knife that hung from a cord about his neck.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy you come now, Outlanders?\u201d the smallest, and seeming eldest, of the three demanded in the Trade Tongue. \u201cHave we not dying enough?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cToo much, Uncle,\u201d Sarrumos said, hands held up placatingly. \u201cToo much and Baak\u2019s Mighty Ones does not enough to stop it. Give us that,\u201d he pointed to one of the small, flat-bottomed skiffs, \u201cand my friend and I will go and make an end of it.\u201d<\/p>\n The knifeman spat, his eyes wide and wrathful. \u201cYou wan\u2019 die, Outlander, do on your own! We not needs Mama Kokoya\u2019s childer coming back for us!\u201d<\/p>\n But the eldest looked thoughtful, chewing his lined lips like one might a particularly tough tobacco leaf. \u201cYou can do this? You know<\/em> you can do this?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe gods alone can know<\/em>, Uncle, but Ah-Hulneb has seen fit for this to come into my hands.\u201d Reaching inside his tunic he slipped out a jade pendant that hung about his neck on silver chain. It was a twisting, spiraling figure, neither man nor serpent nor fish, but a portion of each, that looped about each other and swallowed its own tail.<\/p>\n For a long moment, all was quiet, the elder back to gnawing his lip thoughtfully. At last he pointed to one of the skiffs, the smallest and shabbiest of the little fleet. \u201cTake it and go.\u201d<\/p>\n Bowing, Sarrumos and Ollad uncovered the small skiff, and carried it down to the river, waddling awkwardly with it like a pair of over-sized ducks through the reeds to the bloated river. They felt the crushed stems twisting under their weight, mud squelching over sandals and between toes like some shapeless, yet living, thing. When the water reached the hem of Sarrumos\u2019 kilt, he declared the skiff a float and climbed aboard, as Ollad used the long steering pole to push them further from shore.<\/p>\n They glided easily along the swollen river, its current carrying them northward, back to the thick mud-flat where they had found the dead oysterman. Ollad hugged the shore, the flooded waters too deep at the center for his pole. The breeze picked up, moist, clinging. Shortly thereafter, the drizzle began. The men pulled on the wide, reed hats they had purchased that morning, and prepared to, yet again, be wet.<\/p>\n \u201cIf the sky breaks, we could be swamped,\u201d Ollad said, the mildness of his tone, belying the grimness of his words.<\/p>\n \u201cToday, the rains are not my first concern.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTell me again, why we are doing this alone, on little more than a raft, when we have a galley and men in the city, who sit, doing nothing?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAapo Chaaj Kek\u2019s friendship has its limits. His first duty is to Baak. He would never let us get the Wave-Serpent <\/em>into the water.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut we do this for<\/em> Baak. Why not bring he and his Jaguars to hunt the river demon?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTajoom poison\u2019s my name. He is First Priest of Ah-Hulneb, counselor to the Ix-Ajaw\u2026and most likely the Awizotl\u2019s master.\u201d Jade and silver flashed in his hand as he held the pendant aloft.\u00a0 \u201cThis is the likeness of the Father-of-Rivers. Each priest wears one, apparently.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThen whose is that?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI do not know, I found it lying on the oysterman\u2019s skiff, clenched in his hand as if he had torn it from a body.\u201d<\/p>\n Ollad stopped poling.<\/p>\n \u201cYou are only now telling me this?\u201d<\/p>\n His companion nodded his head sheepishly in agreement. \u201cI am, at that. Apologies. But, more importantly, when I studied Kaj\u00e1n Tep\u2019s corpse, it wore no such trinket. And thus, it were best to assume our new First Priest \u2013 who had much to gain with his predecessor\u2019s death, and who is quick to label me a sorcerer, is at the heart of the matter.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut what reason would he have to continue sending the monster after his own people?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTo conceal his real objective? Because he has lost control of the creature? I have no idea, Ollad, but whatever his reason, he has more motive than I! So, we go back to where it began, and put an end to it ourselves.\u201d<\/p>\n Nodding grimly, the Hichitwa first mate began poling them forward once more. It was not long before they drew near their objective. Dead Kabil\u2019s skiff was gone, even the gouges it left in the mud lost beneath the further-risen waters. A dark hump of mud still hovered just above the stream, the tips of water-logged reeds swaying about it. Sarrumos pointed, and Ollad poled them closer.<\/p>\n The rain fell harder now, little arrows steadily assaulting the water\u2019s surface.<\/p>\n \u201cHow do you know it is here?\u201d Ollad asked, voice little more than a whisper.<\/p>\n An obsidian-tipped harpoon held at the ready in his right hand, withhis left hand Sarrumos fingered the River God\u2019s charm, holding it before him like a torch\u2026or a beacon.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s here,\u201d he pointed with his weapon.<\/p>\n Something was gliding beneath the water towards the boat; something sleek and dark, like a massive otter, but with a long, wide tail. Whatever it was, the creature had slid from its den and taken the bait.<\/p>\n A pair of large, luminescent yellow eyes broke the surface of the water. There was something of both the reptile and the jungle cat about them, and they were large, at least the size of a jaguar\u2019s. The eyes watched them, appraisingly, as one might regard a finely roasted turkey, before slipping beneath the surface once more.<\/p>\n \u201cGet us to the mound, quickly,\u201d Sarrumos said hurriedly, snatching up a second javelin in his other hand. \u201cLet\u2019s make it fight us on land.\u201d<\/p>\n Ollad began poling more quickly, gliding the skiff skillfully towards the mud. They were a short throw away when the water rippled, parted; their little boat rocking with sudden violence. Sarrumos was nearly hurled over the side, into the water, towards those cunning, yellow eyes. Righting himself, he saw a large, ebon-hued hand, a strange six-fingered thing with a thumb on each end, rising over the back of the skiff, towards his mate. The captain lunged, thrusting down with his javelin into that strange, scaly appendage. The obsidian bit, sliced deep, drawing a red-black ichor that must serve the thing as blood.<\/p>\n The hand was gone, back over the side.<\/p>\n The skiff slid onto the mud-bank.<\/p>\n The water exploded around them.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\n\u201cI know.\u00a0 My purse grows thin covering the crew\u2019s expenses, and Gods Below know that most of them have either drunk or fucked away their \u2013\u201d<\/p>\n
![\"\"](\"http:\/\/www.heroicfantasyquarterly.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/Father-of-Rivers-Skiff-scaled.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\n