Sowing Dragon Teeth Read online

  The merchant spat out his tea and stood, eyes darting for a retreat, but there was only the front door and Aisha stood between them.

  Gamal slowed and stopped his flailing. He glanced around, snatching a dirty rag from the bar and stuffing it in his mouth.

  Neith groaned, folding his broad hands across wounds on either arm. Aisha kicked away his hammer behind the bar. “I see now why you had such difficulties with the Kathulians.”

  “I beg your pardon,” stammered the merchant. “Please forgive my harsh words, spoken in jest, I assure you.” He repeatedly placed the heel of his hand to his forehead in a gesture of obeisance.

  “Away with you, dog, and take your bleeders with you.” She looked to the barkeep. “Rouse Ootuka, I would speak with him.” She stepped outside and watched the merchant and his two former bodyguards limp away with fearful glances over their shoulders.

  Two old men who had been playing cards before the ruckus, now spoke from the other side of the lintel. The first said, “More displays like that and merchants will not come to Perkusi anymore.”

  “You would rather they tell their Kathulian masters that we are weak? Better they speak of how badly our women can beat them,” argued the other.

  “War is coming and we cannot stand forever against it. Better for our children to know peace.”

  The other countered with, “Better for us to decide for ourselves! Let us take the fight to Kathul and burn their damned holy books!”

  “That is not the way of peace.”

  “Old fool! You’re a dreamer!”

  “Yes, I want to be left alone and have others do the same.”

  “That is not how the world works. They need to see we are strong!”

  “You’re bloodthirsty.”

  “And you’re a coward!”

  “Bah! Perhaps we should embrace them and see how well they can govern, instead of the apathy we have now from King Tetswyhu!”

  The clamor between them grew louder and Aisha strode away to the veranda granting shelter from the sun. She had heard all the politics before and found it terribly boring. The same words were repeated a thousand times from Tomabusi to Jepra. Same arguments, same questions. There was only one answer as far as Aisha was concerned, and that was freedom.

  Captain Ootuka stumbled out the door, propped up by both the barkeep and another drinking partner. “I understand, you have need of me, woman?” he slurred.

  The barkeep whispered in his ear, surely something of how dangerous Aisha was, but it seemed unlikely that Ootuka took that to heart. He scowled at her and then the barkeep. That was all right Aisha grew accustomed at showing her metal both figuratively and literally.

  “I am captain Aisha. I have patrolled south from Tubaloth. I have been charged by war general Yesugai, supreme commander of the king, with watching for the Kathulian invasion. I have found no sign of their passage yet, but rest assured the day will come. I am requisitioning one of your fresh horses and am southbound. I will return the mount upon my journey north,” she said.

  The watchman approached, with the reins of the fresh horse in hand. A sweating water skin hung from the saddle as did Aisha’s other belongings.

  Ootuka furrowed his sloping brow at her. “I think not. The Kathulians would not dare invade these lands. But you will stay and keep me company, woman. My bed needs the warmth of a body like yours.” He held his arms wide as if expecting her to fall into them.

  The barkeep vanished, as did the drinking partner. Ootuka stared dumbly at their absence.

  Aisha frowned. “You’ll keep that ugly head a bit longer if you heed me. I am gone.” She turned on her heel to go, but not before Ootuka made a rude gesture. Her blade was out in a flash. She cut the brocade of rank from his shoulder without drawing blood. She caught it and tossed it to the watchman as he handed her the reins of the fresh horse. She mounted and trotted out of town without a look over her shoulder, but the whispered words under their breath made her smile.

  “Who was that?” asked Ootuka. “She had yellow eyes!”

  “Aisha, Iron Maiden of the Black Coast,” answered the watchman.

  “That was her!?Those eyes!”

  “Like a demon’s,” agreed the watchman.

  “I thought she would be uglier,” muttered Ootuka. “And taller.”

  The watchman rubbed at his throat. “Be grateful the Iron Maiden is on our side.”

  2. King of the Great Secret

  A storm swept in quick, carrying heavy rains that forced Aisha to seek shelter along a narrow cliff face. Red slick rock carved by wind and water, funneled the gouts of rain causing a roar to rival that of the thunder. She found an overhang granting the barest relief and decided to wait it out. Raindrops beat a constant drumming thump against her saddle and gear. She fell asleep as forgotten dreams crawled up beside her and danced.

  She saw the fields where she grew up, dotted with the cattle and goats her father had raised. Laundry her mother hung out to dry, waved like banners in the breeze. Tall sunflowers beat themselves, flapping back and forth in the hot breath of summer.

  She spun about in the field, growing dizzy but thoroughly at peace with the world. She had never been happier than now. Her father called to her, his strong brown arms outstretched, his bright smile beaming. She ran to him, joyous at his call. Lambs lay at his feet and a shepherd’s crook in his hand. She ran. He was only a dozen strides away.

  A dark shadow blanketed the green earth. The beating of wings brought gale winds like a hurricane, pummeling the ground in its ferocity. A look of horror washed over her father’s face. He screamed mutely at her to turn back, to get away.

  She couldn’t, she had to run to him. Whatever fear this shadow carried, she had to be with him.

  She ran.

  He screamed.

  Black talons the size of a rhino’s horn swung down, gripping her father like one of her dolls and he was snatched into the air in a jarring motion. And then he was gone. Hot red rain fell and covered her face and filled her mouth. No, not rain, blood.

  Aisha awoke with a start. The roaring about her was just the wind and water. “There are no dragons,” she muttered. “There are no dragons. Just nightmares.”

  The rain fell all night and she refused to go back to sleep. It was a long damp night.

  In the morning the rain departed to the east. Aisha looked at her map and cursed. The Red River had swollen over its banks and washed out the road. A deep snake-like furrow cut back and forth across the track, what was left of it appeared worse than straight through the rocky hills. She decided to cut across the rising slopes and likely save time before reaching the next settlement.

  She kicked the horse’s flanks and directed it uphill to where she could get a better lay of the land. The one good thing about after a rain storm, everything smelled fresh and clean again. The savannah had given way to a sparse desert and here and there sage grew with its sweet wet scent. Aisha took in the moment and reminded herself why she was there and what the greater good was. “Sowing dragon teeth,” she reminded herself.

  Guiding the horse up red dirt embankments and avoiding the clumpy short cactus, Aisha found herself on top of a great stretching plateau. Random red stone boulders and hoodoo’s sitting toad-like at regular intervals gave the appearance of a natural maze. But the ground was soft and clear. So long as she didn’t come to a cliff face or dead end, it should remain a few hours of easy riding. Aisha hated not being able to see more than a few hundred yards ahead of herself, but it was still the high ground comparatively and she suspected no one could sneak up on her any better than she could them. Besides, up here there was little enough water and only a fool would lie in wait for a traveler that might never come.

  She rode for several hours across the meandering stone garden, watching, half-expecting one of the anthropomorphic stones to speak. She thought she heard a voice once, but it had to be the echo of her own heartbeat in this lonely place. Dusk came sooner than expected and she decided it best to m
ake camp. There was no brush or fuel of any kind so she made no fire. She was surprised that this peculiar escarpment was not on her map and that she had not come to the end of it yet. She slept without dreams that night, though it was not a restful sleep.

  In the morning, anger welled in her heart at the rain and the map. She had watched the stars to be sure she was on her course, but why didn’t the map show this place? You would think someone would have charted it before, but instead it was a dead spot, where supposedly there was naught but a mountain range. This was a valley, but the strangest she had ever passed through. She was conservative with her water and continued. Why wasn’t this on the map? Was this a forbidden place? Was it dangerous?

  Aisha continued to wonder at these thoughts for the next half hour when an arrow suddenly blazed a hairsbreadth before her face, the wind of it slicing through the air just in front of her nose.

  She instinctively dropped from her mount and rolled away, taking cover behind a great red stone.

  Another shaft splintered on the stone a hands-breath above her head, raining feathers and shattered dogwood down on her.

  Never good with a bow, she regretted that now. Gauging where the attack had come from, she slowly crawled like a snake toward an overhang. Silent as a cat, she dropped down and took a wide circuit about.

  Aisha stalked her quarry for almost a half hour until she came up behind him. A small, old man, with dark wrinkled skin peered between intricately cut viewing ports. With her knife drawn, she crouched and moon-stepped until she was upon him.

  He wheeled at the last second and his eyes flared with shock. He loosed his drawn arrow with poor accuracy. It went wide as Aisha threw her knife. It stuck to the hilt in the old man’s chest. He gasped and fell backward.

  Aisha charged and took his weapons but he was out of the fight. He was very old, made of just skin and bones and not much of that. He was much darker than Aisha save for his white eyebrows and receding hairline. Her complexion was a light cocoa by comparison to his ebony countenance. His skin was like wrinkled parchment drawn over a withered skull. He clicked his tongue rapidly in the language of the Umoja.

  “You’re an Umoja of the wastes, why did you ambush me?” she asked, hoping he understood the Valchiki tongue.

  He did, responding in kind, “I am Zahur, king of the great secret. I was defending myself. You have been hunting me for my secrets. But I have sworn I will only speak the great secret to the man that kills me. But you are a woman!”

  “If you’re so observant, you should have known I wasn’t hunting you, old man,” she said, with some sharpness. Aisha had never taken kindly to anyone shooting at her. She looked him over, hoping for something to staunch the bleeding now that she was sure he was no true threat. He was just a crazy old man.

  He shook his hoary head. “It matters not I suppose, you are here and have rightfully slain me.”

  She gritted her teeth and felt a sickening regret at stabbing what must be a parched and sun-warped mind. Surely he had gone insane out here. He had a walking stick, an obsidian dagger, a bow with a handful of arrows, and a big leather pouch. His water-skin was not surprisingly empty. He did have a thin gold band upon his brow, though compared to what Aisha had seen in her pirating days she would not have called it a crown. “I don’t know what you’re talking about old man. I am travelling south on watch for the coming war. I know and care nothing for your secrets, lotus eater.”

  He bristled at the term. “I am king of the great secret and am dying. Now you will take my place as queen of the great secret. I warn you, no crowned head ever lay uneasier than ours. You have the sacred duty to keep the location of our—”

  She cut him off. “Now tell me the truth, why did you try and ambush me? Are you scouting for the Kathulians?” She shook him.

  He denied that with a fierce shake of his head. “I told you. I am Zahur, shaman and sacred king to my people. I only sought to keep the secret way safe. I have been king for three hundred moons. Now you—you are Queen,” he said, pointing with a trembling finger. “Look in my bag, get the map and commit the great secret to memory. You are the keeper now.”

  “Shut up about your secrets unless it has anything to do with the Kathulians,” she snapped.

  He shook his head. “I serve none but the dragon gods.”

  Aisha paused at that. She had seen the Umoja tribesmen before, had spoken with some briefly years ago, but she knew nothing of their strange gods and religions, nor anything of dragons. Did they worship dragons? Surely a dragon worshipper would not be working for the Kathulians. “Why did you say that? Do the Umoja worship dragons?”

  He cracked a smile, despite blood foaming at the edge of his parched lips. “You know we worship the dragon gods, but protecting the great secret is now your duty. I will speak the sacred words outside the temple but once. Commit them to memory, I will tell you—”

  “I heard you the first time. I have no interest in your secrets. Keep them.” Aisha had cared for lung wounds before but this was worse than she thought and she was no surgeon.

  “Do not try and save me. I am ready to go to my place in the heavens. Duty is beyond all our plans. You now serve the dragon gods too. You are my sister in duty. Remember the sacred words, speak them if you would commune with the gods—Vovin, Tanniym, Thrakos. Remember.” The old man paused at that and slumped where he sat. Aisha watched him a moment before checking his pulse. He was gone.

  She cursed a moment in the tongue of the Tolburnians, a habit she had picked up as a pirate. The Valchiki didn’t curse like the white men did, to the Valchiki you were inviting trouble by mentioning a curse, but the Tolburnians had a god for everything, so taking their names in vain was a matter of course. “Why did you have to ambush me, you old fool? I wasn’t looking for you.” She looked closer at the old man and the leopard skin bag he clutched to his bosom. She pulled his hands away and saw a dragon amulet about his neck. It was crude and simply shaped but it still brought a moment of terror in her breast.

  Dream images flashed in her mind of the great shadow above and her father screaming to get away. She ran toward him, she always did, she would be almost within reach when the great talons would pluck him from the ground. He was always carried away into the air and gone in seconds. And then blood rained down upon her. Why couldn’t she have a different dream?

  She remembered her mother telling her it was all a bad dream, that dragons didn’t exist and bad men had taken her father. But the dreams were so vivid, so horrifying, also they never changed. Growing up, the local folk always said she had the evil eye. Two evil eyes of yellow and black, like obsidian housed in amber. She wasn’t born that way, but after her father was gone she changed. Her senses became sharp as any beasts. She became stronger than other girls in her village, even stronger than the men. But none of that could make up for what was lost.

  Aisha took the amulet from the dead king, snapping the thong from his throat and throwing the wretched thing away into the dust. Hungry, she glanced in his pouch. A few crumbs of corn bread and a rope-like twist of jerky were all that remained. There was also a rolled up piece of vellum. Chewing on the jerky, she unfurled the vellum scroll and was surprised to see a roughly drawn map of the wastes. Cryptic hieroglyphs at the top proclaimed it the territory of the Umoja peoples. That was debatable as far as Aisha was concerned, after all, Valchiki held the river as far south as the Temple of the Buffalo. Still, she recognized the landmarks because the uppermost edge was the rocky escarpment she now travelled through while the Red River ran serpent-like along the eastern edge.

  Far to the south was more desert, yet another mountain range, and then over the river a large cone shaped mountain, all by itself, and in a clear unmistakable hand was a sign for dragons and bones. Was this a map for the dragon’s graveyard? That legendary place where the monsters went to die?

  Aisha shook her head and looked again. Men whispered of such an evil place and how if they could but find it they would be rich beyond counting. Wha
t an unfathomable hoard must be there, what incredible bone and ivory, tooth and scale must litter such a mountain? It would be beyond telling. It would take a dozen caravans years to haul away such a treasure.

  She remembered talk aboard the pirate galleon about what spoils might be there, and how men spoke in hushed whispers of its being found and lost time and again. She had scoffed at the very notion then, but now, possibilities danced through her mind. Armor made from dragon scales would be impervious to any weapon forged of man. Teeth from a dragon could be fashioned into the mightiest of weapons. There was no end to the wealth and power if such a place existed.

  Aisha glanced over the map again, memorizing every detail—the escarpment, the valley below, the tributaries to the Red River, the Dead Black Sea and the wide deserted valley beyond. She noticed the sweeping sands of the dune sea, a salt lake, and the haunted mountains further on. The Red River snaked its way back and forth along the map and signs of several oases were clearly charted and finally the cone shaped mountain all alone near the bottom corner. It sat near enough the end of the haunted mountains, a sight few civilized men had ever been witness to. The dangers that far south were incredible; headhunters, djinn, cannibals, demons, tikoloshe, man-eating apes, long-legged Gbahali crocodiles, never mind the possibility of legendary dragons.

  A secret door was also visible on the map, recognizable by the insinuation of a shadow pointing the way. That was an intriguing feature. Could it be real?

  She reminded herself, that this was all grounded in nonsense, the ravings of a disturbed mind. Why would this senile old man be this far north and with a map to the most secretive and sacred place in the whole of the continent? If his tribe knew he was here, they would be hunting him down and then slay her just for reading the map. Damn! She couldn’t be found with such a prize regardless of having no intent to seek after such a thing. She gathered a handful of woods and tiny sticks, then struck steel and flint together, creating a spark she fanned with some of the old man’s fetishes until a hot smokeless blaze was kindled. She glanced at it one more time, consigned herself that it was but a fantasy and delivered the map to the devouring fire. It slowly smoked and blackened, as the greedy flames crackled.