Part Three: Fallen Hero
Sekhmet sprawled out over the thick limb of the tree,
relaxing on his stomach high above the ground. Very close by, the sounds
of battle could be heard, swords clashing, shouting, yells. Through the leaves
Sekhmet could see them practicing, the clan's warriors, all young men about
his age or older. He appraised their skill and found himself thinking that
he could beat any one of them. He smiled at the thought. What fun, to beat
them into the ground in the name of practice.
But even as he mocked their skills, Sekhmet wished somehow
that he could be out there with them, showing them all how good he was, what
he had learned from the three years he'd been practicing with Essah. And
soon, soon it would be practice no longer.
The country was at war, and it had finally reached their
little forest-surrounded valley. The clan had been ordered by their lord,
through Faimbril, to take over the land of the nearest town. Their lord,
ranked so high and so unconcerned with their little town that Sekhmet didn't
even know his name, was trying to become the ruler of the country, taking
over the land of the other lords. Now it their turn to make a contribution,
and so the warriors practiced.
They stopped to take a break in their training, sitting
down, and a few wandered closer to his tree. Sekhmet froze, hoping they'd
leave. All except one of them did, and that one sat in the shade, pulling
off his helmet and running his hands through his sweaty hair.
Sekhmet tried to stay still, but he couldn't help it.
His leg was falling asleep, so he shifted on the limb. The leaves rustled
around him, and the young man below looked up, getting to his feet. Sekhmet
could see his face now, and recognized him as Datai, seventeen years old
and the leader of the warriors.
"Who's up there? What are you doing?" Datai called,
hand on the hilt of one of his swords.
Sekhmet paused a moment, and seeing no other alternative,
answered him. "I'm watching the practice." On impulse, he added, "You're
pretty pathetic. I could beat any of you." He waited for Datai's response,
somewhat amused. He was probably going to get mad and make a fool of himself.
At least he was safe; there was no way the warrior could climb the tree in
that armor.
Datai was flustered for a moment. "Sekhmet?" he said
incredulously, and then regained his composure. "Well then, why don't you
come down out of there and prove it?"
"All right." Sekhmet responded, rolling carelessly off
the limb and catching onto it before he fell. He hung a moment and then jumped
lithely to the ground, landing in front of Datai.
The other warriors made surprised noises as they noticed
him in turn, not a few making those annoying warding signs. Datai led him
over to the others and told them of Sekhmet's boast. He watched their faces
carefully, and many of them acted offended at the thought that he was better
than them.
"I will be the one to disprove this boy's statement,"
Datai announced, and Sekhmet felt satisfied. Apparently Datai was the best
warrior, being the leader, and there was no point in doing this if he didn't
fight the best. A plan began to arise in the back of his mind. "Go and get
your weapon and armor, and we shall see what you can do." With a nod, Sekhmet
went off to the clearing, the others praising Datai's bravery as he left.
When he arrived he began to pull away the stones that
covered his sword, pushing them aside carelessly. He felt a familiar quaver
in the air and turned around, lifting his sword from its rocky bed. "Essah,"
he said, "I'm going to fight them, the warriors! I said I could beat any
of them and now I'm going to prove it."
Essah smiled at him. "You will. You've been doing very
well lately. Perhaps this will gain you some acceptance."
"Maybe." He frowned, thinking. "But I have no armor."
"You have your sword, and that is all you will need.
Fight with honor, Sekhmet. Always. Do not disgrace me."
"I won't, father," he promised. With a grin, he started
back to town.
"You have no armor?" Datai questioned.
Sekhmet merely shook his head. I'd think that was
obvious, he thought. But I'm still going to beat you.
The warrior took off his helmet and handed it to another
man standing by. "Then I shall fight without it as well." he announced, working
at the ties. Some of the others came over to help him, but many just stood
there, surprised.
"Is that wise, Datai?" one of them asked haltingly.
"He'll curse you, put you under a spell. You'll be unprotected."
Datai shrugged. "He's just a boy. It wouldn't be right."
Datai looked at Sekhmet, almost seeming to judge his intentions. "Besides,
I think he will fight fairly."
"Of course," Sekhmet put in, absently running a finger
up and down the hilt of his sword. "Why wouldn't I?" This was unexpected
enough that they all fell silent, and then Datai was ready.
He bowed formally, and Sekhmet repeated the gesture.
Then, with a cry, he lunged forward. Sekhmet evaded easily and swept at him.
Datai caught the blade on the shorter of his two swords and thrust forward
with the other. Sekhmet shoved ahead and parried, dodging another blow. He
appeared to be gaining on the older warrior, and chopped downward, nicking
Datai's shoulder.
Recalling what Essah had shown him, Sekhmet attacked
furiously, and Datai was so busy defending that he had no time to press his
own attack. The battle went on for some time, going far beyond mere practice.
He knocked the long sword from Datai's hand with a lucky hit, ignoring the
noises the others made as they watched, dismayed.
Sekhmet feinted at him, and suddenly, Datai lost his
balance and fell to the ground. Sekhmet caught himself beginning the death-stroke
and stopped just in time, letting Datai up. The warrior brushed himself off,
gasping, and glanced around at the stunned faces of his comrades before turning
and bowing to Sekhmet. Breathing hard as well, Sekhmet bowed back.
He wiped his face with the back of his hand, brushing
stray strands of hair out of his eyes, and when he'd caught his breath Datai
asked, "Where did you learn to fight like that?"
Sekhmet shook his head before even attempting to form
the words. "You wouldn't like it if I told you." Datai nodded slowly.
"You are the victor. Whatever is in my power to give,
it is yours."
You couldn't give me what I really want, Sekhmet
thought to himself. Out loud he said, as he'd intended all along, "I want
to join the warriors." There was a lot of discontented murmuring at this,
but Datai stopped their protests.
"I would rather have him on my side than on the other,
wouldn't you?" he admonished quietly. "So be it, Sekhmet. You are a warrior
of our clan. May all your battles be victorious."
"I won!" he cried to Essah the next day. "They're letting
me be one of the warriors!" Essah smiled down at him.
"You have done well," he replied. "Show me how you did
it."
Sekhmet nodded and raised his sword. His eye caught
something standing behind Essah, and he stared at it. A man-like figure in
grayish-black armor held up a large metal spear. "Father!" he shouted. "There's
something behind you!"
Essah glanced casually over his shoulder, and then his
eyes widened. He spun around to stand in front of Sekhmet. "What do you want?
The master has no need of me now!" Essah demanded, recognition in his voice.
It laughed, replying in a deep tone, "I have come for
the boy. Give him up now, and you will not be harmed." It began to advance
forward.
Essah made a hissing noise, hand tightening on the hilt
of his sword. "The Dynasty is not going to have my son!" The armor lunged
at Essah, and he shoved it back with the sword, other hand beginning to glow
with energy.
Sekhmet stared at them. The Dynasty? What...what
does it mean, it's come for me? He wasn't able to think about it for
long, however, as two more of the soldiers crashed out of the bushes and
rushed for him. His father blocked one, shocking it with the energy, but
the other got past and grabbed for him.
He struck at it, hardly scratching it, and it began
to whip a chain above its head. Sekhmet thrust forward again, missing entirely.
Suddenly, with a snarl, Essah ran his opponent through. A filthy gray mist
rose out of the fallen armor.
Sekhmet twisted around and caught the soldier in the
back. He was almost unable to pull the blade free, and smoke came out of
the slash as it, too, fell. The last one vanished.
He caught his breath and glanced at Essah, who was staring
off into the trees. "What was that all about?" The snake-god turned to face
him, a weary expression on his face.
"My master wishes to have you under his control. Never
join the Dynasty, Sekhmet. If you promise me only one thing, let that be
it. It is death, a trap with no way out."
The Dynasty! I've heard of that... "Then, your
master is Talpa!" he exclaimed, his voice breaking. "Why--why are you a part
of the Dynasty?"
His father looked at him sadly. "It was...no, I cannot
say it was beyond my control." He gazed up at the sky, the pale yellow light
falling on his face. His hair flew around him as if there was a wind blowing
it that way. "I could have prevented it, but I was foolish, and--"
He broke off and turned back to Sekhmet, glaring. "You must never join Talpa!"
Essah disappeared abruptly, leaving Sekhmet very confused.
Sekhmet had discovered in a storehouse a box, hidden
among the rice. He'd pulled it out and opened it, finding a suit of armor
wrapped up in paper. He felt sure that it had belonged to Ayaken, his mother's
first husband, and although it was old, and not very well-made, he decided
to take it. After all, wasn't he supposed to be Ayaken's son?
No one seemed to recognize it, or ask where he'd gotten
it, and of that he was glad. Datai had been teaching him how to wear it,
and seemed to have accepted him, even if the others were still wary. The
rest of the town, his mother included, had been aghast at hearing the news
that he was one of their protectors. Their reactions had been funny, and
he smiled even now at the memory of them.
So as the warriors sat in the practice field, gathering
together for a meeting, he sat a little ways away from them, waiting for
Datai to arrive and announce the reason they were here. Finally, he came,
and wasted no time getting down to business. "I have received my orders.
The time to attack is approaching. Now is the time to make our plans." There
was an excited buzz of noise from the assembled warriors.
Many suggestions were given as to how, exactly, they
should attack the other clan, and Datai listened patiently to them before
looking over at Sekhmet, wearing a calculating expression.
"Perhaps," the blonde man said slowly, leaning forward,
"we can scare them a little. Unnerve them, that sort of thing. Sekhmet's
one of us now. I see no reason why he can't do that." Sekhmet flinched back
in surprise. "Threaten them with your powers," Datai continued, touching
his fingertips together. "Can you really, well, curse them?"
Sekhmet slowly shook his head. "I have no powers," he
lied. "Because of my human blood." He felt some strange satisfaction as the
others gave him odd looks. He hadn't really trained in magic much at any
rate, only the snake control, and one other little trick. He smiled inwardly,
touching his sword, remembering... that one was going to be fun.
"I agree to this plan," he said shortly. "Why not?"
Datai smiled, now confident that they'd send the enemy running scared back
to their clan.
Sekhmet felt excitement well up inside him. His first
battle would be soon, very soon. But, even so, he didn't know if he would
wait that long to prove once and for all that he was not a curse to the clan.
The day was dark, gloomy, and somehow very suitable
for a day when men die. The warriors passed through the town gates, armor
polished, weapons shining, and the rest of the people watched them leave,
lined up along the road, shouting well-wishes, waving goodbye to the father,
son, or husband they might never see again.
Sekhmet marched near the head of the warriors, near
Datai, ignoring the comments, the whispers, the warding symbols as they went
past. He was too excited to let them bother him today. He glanced at the
people and saw his mother standing among them, face emotionless, holding
Jynavy in her arms. Sekhmet met her eyes again, playing his game, staring
at her until she looked away under the pretense of setting the girl on the
ground.
The child waved at him as they went by, still too young
to understand that she was supposed to be afraid. He half-smiled at her,
at Rielvia, and then turned away from them. She still blames me, he
said to himself. Viraz died three years ago, and she still can't forget
about it. Mother has no proof, nothing but her own feelings, and at least
she can't accuse me based on that. And, besides, I really doubt that many
of the townspeople miss Viraz.
After a little traveling, they reached the battlefield,
close by the walls of their town. The enemy warriors appeared, at Datai,
with a glance around at his troops, shouted "Charge!" There were shouts from
the other side, and they both ran at each other, screaming and brandishing
their weapons.
Sekhmet easily beat the few warriors who rushed at him,
one after another, one of them even younger than himself. And even as he
cut them down, he hardly felt the excited rush that some of the others were
expressing as their blades ended the lives of another, and then another,
before theirs was taken as well in an onslaught of darkness and blood. After
all, hadn't he killed his first man when he was twelve?
He fought almost mechanically, barely feeling the nicks
he was receiving on his cheek, and another on his forehead, but suddenly
he looked around and saw that they were losing.
He searched around, batting away the spear of another
boy, and found Datai, parrying the naginata of a bleeding man. "Do something,
Sekhmet!" he called, and Sekhmet waved his sword at him in affirmation.
He slowly backed up onto a low hill, letting his opponent
advance on him, and then wrenched off his helmet. The wind began to blow
fiercely and in the far distance he could see lightning. Oh, how wonderful!
So dramatic! Essah would love this, he thought, laughing out loud. His
opponent, whom he could see clearly now, was really very young. He
stared, frozen in shock, and Sekhmet killed him with one blow.
He gave a yell of exultation and raised his word in
the air, concentrating for a second. The sword began to glow green, and he
swept it down to point at one of the enemy, who immediately blanched and
began to run. He made the sword glow brightly, and more and more men began
to run. Even the faces of his comrades showed their fear, and soon they'd
finished off or chased away all the rest of their enemies.
A ragged cheer arose from the troops, and Sekhmet lowered
his sword with an tired, satisfied sigh. Datai ran up to him and simply bowed,
always formal, and saluted him with his sword. Sekhmet managed to return
the salute before falling onto his knees. He realized with mild detachment
that he was shaking. Datai helped him to his feet and supported him as the
went back down the hill.
Below, some of the townspeople had arrived with carts
and horses and were loading the wounded onto them. Even women were there,
bandaging the wounds of their loved ones or looking for the one body they
didn't want to find. A couple of older people ran up to Datai, and Sekhmet
regarded them through blurry vision.
"What are you doing?" the man asked Datai with confusion.
He stubbornly helped Sekhmet up into the cart. He settled back against the
side, exhausted.
"Father," Datai responded, announcing it really to the
whole crowd assembled there, "if it wasn't for Sekhmet, we would have lost
this battle. I believe in giving credit where it is earned. He secured the
victory, and should be honored above all others."
They all were skeptical, but Datai was well looked up
to by the clan, and gradually they began to go back to helping the wounded.
Datai took a seat in the same cart, and they drove off back to town.
"I would rather you didn't do this," Sekhmet said to
him softly. "I don't want this kind of honor."
Datai looked at him strangely. "I don't understand.
How can you not?"
"Please, just don't."
"As you wish." Datai fell silent, and Sekhmet stared
at the ground passing slowly by.
Almost three relatively peaceful years passed. There
were a few battles during this time, and in each one Sekhmet helped send
the enemy running, almost becoming a veteran in the art of warfare. But the
problem was that they weren't winning their war. They had not conquered the
other clan.
"They're planning an attack." The ninja spoke quietly
from behind his mask of black cloth. The warriors glanced around at each
other, their faces wearing masks of confidence to hide their dismay. They'd
hired the ninja to find out what their enemy was up to. He wasn't very good,
but the best they could get. Anyone better would have been at the capital,
working for the lord.
"Why, after all this time?" Datai put a voice to the
question in many of their minds. Sekhmet shifted uncomfortably, guessing
at the answer. He was right.
"They want to get rid of the demon," he replied. "They
do not like being scared away." Datai nodded, and then the talk continued
on to other topics. Sekhmet was aware of all the angry glances being pointed
in his direction, and felt his face burn. When it suits them to think
so, I am very useful. But when it causes them work then I am a curse! He
looked down at the ground for the rest of the meeting, leaving as soon as
possible when it was over.
As he walked through the streets, heading for the forest,
he was aware of footsteps behind him and stopped, turning around. Datai was
a short distance away, trying to catch up with him.
"Sekhmet," he said, "you left so soon. I had some things
to discuss with you--"
He cut the other warrior off. "No, I won't do it again.
I won't single myself out. They're accusing me of bringing on this attack,
endangering their families. I won't risk my life for them!"
Datai looked at him, apparently confused. "But, it is
an honor to fight in the front ranks!" he protested.
Sekhmet snorted disdainfully. "You and your honor,"
he mumbled.
Datai sighed in mock irritation. "All right, fight near
the middle. But don't come complaining to me when there's no one left for
you to fight!"
"Don't worry, I won't." He rolled his eyes, and Datai
grinned, retracing his steps back to town.
It was rather different, fighting totally surrounded
by people, but he didn't have to worry about not having anyone to fight.
They crashed through the ranks like a tidal wave, shouting and yelling. Sekhmet
did all right for a while, but then one of the enemy spotted him, pointing
him out to the others, and he was descended upon by at least five warriors
at once.
He fought furiously, his sword finding its mark many
times, but still more came at him, and he was in danger of being overwhelmed.
It was almost as if the whole army was charging at him. Datai, not very far
away, saw him and rushed to help, but soon he was wounded and had to fall
back.
One managed to slice up under his armor, cutting deeply
into his left shoulder. Sekhmet's arm immediately exploded in pain, and then
went numb, and somehow he could hardly move it. The sudden shock made him
angry, and he almost lost his senses. He rushed at his attackers, sword glowing,
and ran a man through with a shower of sparks. He pointed to the blood all
over him, shouting without really being aware of what he was saying.
"Do you want to die, fools? My blood is poison, I'll
poison you, you'll die a slow and painful death! I'll curse you, fools! You
will die, now!" In a fury he slaughtered many of them, almost berserking
in his pain and rage, and they ran again, all of them, the warriors of his
clan, the enemy, everyone.
Suddenly the madness left him with only the pain throbbing
in his useless arm, and he collapsed to the ground, merciful unconsciousness
still denied to him. Even so, Sekhmet wasn't aware when they won, when the
townspeople rushed onto the field with their carts, when the unconscious
Datai was loaded on. But when they all passed him by, whispering among themselves
and glancing down at him sprawled among the grasses, he realized that they
were going to leave him there to bleed to death on the plain.
Suddenly, they were gone, returning to their homes in
the distant town. Slowly, he tried to pull himself to his hands and knees,
but vertigo overtook him and his arms shook, and he fell back down with an
involuntary cry. Sekhmet closed his eyes and waited for his balance to come
back to him, listening to the cry of the carrion birds overhead, feeling
the intense heat of the sun, unblocked by any clouds.
He heard a faint rustling and opened his eyes, but couldn't
see anything in his line of vision. Suddenly a shadow fell across his face,
and he summoned the energy to look upward.
A woman stood there, silhouetted against the light,
brown hair escaping from the knot on top of her head. She looked down at
him, and he remembered her as Lyonta, the daughter of one of Viraz's friends.
He stared back at her, wondering what she was doing there, in the middle
of death.
"It isn't right," she said slowly. "Why did they leave
you here with the dead?"
With a slow, agonizing movement Sekhmet dragged his
helmet off, sending it skittering to the side, his identity the only explanation
he could give her. She met his eyes calmly, without surprise.
"It isn't right," Lyonta repeated, kneeling down and
ducking under his good arm. She tried to help him stand, and he gave her
all the assistance he could although his head was spinning, surprised that
she'd do this for him. The journey back to town was long, silent, and they
went incredibly slowly. He tried to keep as much weight off her as he could,
stumbling frequently. Finally they neared the town gates.
As they walked up to them, a guard stopped them, stammering.
"I'm sorry, my lady, but, uh, you can't enter."
"What?" Lyonta said furiously, green eyes flashing.
The guard took a step back.
"Well, not you, lady, of course, but him." She glared
at the man, and suddenly Sekhmet wished he was anywhere but here, bleeding
all over her.
The sounds of a commotion were heard from up the road,
and Lyonta stiffened slightly. "My father's coming," she murmured to Sekhmet,
and he nodded slightly, that movement still sending waves of dizziness through
him.
The dark haired man, Herke, Lyonta's father, appeared
at the gates, face quivering with anger. "Impudent girl!" he shouted. "Come
here, now!"
"No, you can't do this!" she shrieked back, and Herke
seized her wrist and yanked her away. His support gone, Sekhmet fell to the
ground, landing hard on his wounded shoulder. He cried out, and Lyonta struggled
to get out of her father's grasp. "No, it's not right!" she cried, but Herke
resolutely dragged her back inside the town. She looked back, staring at
him, and he watched her for as long as he could see her. Slowly, with much
creaking, the gates slammed shut. The clan had finally cast him out.
He closed his eyes, riding with the pain until it receded,
and then opened them again, turning his gaze toward the dark, cool depths
of the Dark Sister. He began to drag himself in that direction, using every
last possible bit of strength. He barely got ten feet before collapsing in
the dust.
It was dark when he woke up again, and an even darker
figure was leaning over him. "Essah?" he mumbled, hardly able to speak. "Help...
please..."
"Sekhmet?" the figure said, and he instantly recognized
it. "Thank the gods you're still alive. Here, let me help you... took a while
before my father fell asleep." Lyonta pulled a waterbag from her sash and
lifted it, wetting his lips. "Have to get you off the road..."
"The forest," he mumbled. "Find Essah... can help."
She nodded and helped him up again, supported this time with a branch to
use as a kind of crutch. They went slowly in the direction he indicated,
going off the path and entering the dark forest. She bit her lip but didn't
protest. She was obviously afraid, though, and seeing the blood on her lip
he was even more impressed by her bravery. Sekhmet silently guided her to
the clearing, and they pushed through the bushes, reaching their destination.
Lyonta let him down to sit leaning against the tree,
kneeling near him, and he tried to call out for his father but couldn't manage
it. She understood what he was trying to do, and called out, "Hello? Please,
we need help! Is anyone here?" He felt it as Essah appeared in a shimmer
of green light. She shrank back against him unconsciously, her eyes widening.
"You--you must be Sekhmet's father!"
Essah simply regarded her, and she quickly added, "He's
hurt, please, can you help him?" He nodded shortly and kneeled next to Sekhmet
on his other side, removing pieces of his armor. Lyonta, after a look at
him, did the same. He yelled sharply as they disturbed his wound, and
Lyonta took his hand, squeezing it gently. "Can you move your hand?" she
asked in a low tone. He tried, and was barely able to do it.
Essah held his hands over Sekhmet's shoulder, and they
began to glow. Both of them stared in amazement as the wound began to close,
the shine spreading to his shoulder and down his arm. The mark on Essah's
face sprang into being, and he felt a slight warmth as his appeared as well,
Lyonta's surprise evident.
Sekhmet's vision began to fade, and he settled back
with a sigh. Essah placed a hand on his head. "Get some rest," he said. "You'll
be all right." He stood and moved away. Lyonta jumped to her feet and went
over to him, kneeling down.
"Thank you, lord," she said quietly, and he smiled and
touched her head as well.
"Take care of my son," he replied, and then vanished.
She moved back over to him, sitting down and settling his head in her lap.
"Why... would you do this for me?" he asked, closing
his eyes.
"It isn't right that they do this. You saved them, saved
us from being conquered, killed, and then they leave you in the dust like
so much meat. You can't help what you are any more than I can." He felt her
hand on his head, brushing back the damp hair again and again, the motion
unfamiliar and comforting. He sighed, almost in happiness. "I will stay until
it's almost dawn," she murmured close to his ear. "Father will never know
I was gone."
"Thank you," Sekhmet replied, weakly squeezing her hand,
feeling gradually returning to it.
"Of course," she answered, and he thought he could feel
her fingers trail down the side of his face, but he couldn't hear her next
words as the darkness of sleep abruptly took him.