Sowing Dragon Teeth Page 4

  Aisha struggled but the bindings were too good, an experienced seaman and pirate like Ole would know how to tie them right.

  “Come along, all of you, we ride back to camp,” called Catlo. He mounted his horse as did Ole and the Avarans. The Umoja however clicked their disapproval. “What is it now?”

  The Umoja pointed at Zahur’s body and gestured to the south, while clicking so excitedly and angrily that Aisha couldn’t understand a word, though the meaning was clear enough.

  “Really?” Catlo asked. “You didn’t say that when we rode here to murder him!”

  “What do they want?” asked Ole.

  Catlo threw up his hands, pushed back his wide brimmed hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. “They say that Zahur was such a powerful shaman that if we don’t take him back with us and bury him properly, he will haunt us all the way to the mountain.”

  Ole snorted. “So, we wait? Do they wish to bury him here?”

  “No, they say we must bring him off this mountain and bury him at the dragon’s mountain.” Catlo spat and stamped his foot. “Damn! People! Why can’t I get reliable help?” He turned toward Hodari, Musa, and Nyo who were wrapping up Zahur’s body and preparing to tie it to a horse. “You never said anything about this when we planned it. Do you realize how bad he is going to stink by the time we get there? He’ll attract jackals and buzzards for days. Everyone will see us coming for miles because of our herald of buzzards!”

  If the Umoja men were listening, they didn’t show it. Aisha didn’t think they were listening. They probably had been with Catlo long enough now that they simply ignored his frequent tirades. One of them sung soft prayers while they gingerly wrapped the dead body up. Lastly, they closed his eyes and that was what really made Aisha feel sorry for having slain him.

  “I am sorry,” she whispered.

  Once they had the body thoroughly wrapped up and, on the horse, they followed Ole and moved back through the hoodoos in a south-west direction. Aisha tried to orient herself against the way she had come but the landscape was terribly confusing. It wouldn’t have been hard to imagine a body getting lost in this natural maze. Ole, however, seemed to know exactly where he was going. Perhaps he had some navigational magic?

  “Don’t get too comfortable with our arrangement and think that because of what you just witnessed I am soft,” Catlo said, riding up behind her. “I am as hard a man as they come, and if you try to escape, I will cut your ankles. I need these men for now, just like I need you. I will tolerate only so much, so watch yourself.”

  Aisha simply gave him a hard stare right back. She wouldn’t be intimidated by anyone.

  “You’re tough, I have heard of you, Iron Maiden, but you’re still just a woman.” Catlo spat and rode ahead, letting the flying dust be his final retort.

  4. Blood Revelation

  It was midday when they left the encampment of Zahur, and by late afternoon they had crossed the rim of the valley and were back into slightly more familiar looking terrain. The mountains were a rift of sheer red rock that looked like they had once been part of a flat plain, then inexplicably some lonesome god had come and tilted them at a slant pointing up at the moon. Surely this was a sign of some ancient catastrophe, but beyond that Aisha had no idea.

  Impenetrable as they first looked, there was a serpentine canyon carved through the mountain with a cool meandering stream at the bottom. It babbled as it flowed over loose rounded stones.

  “This is called Black Dragon Canyon by the Umoja. Just try and tell me we are not on the right path,” shouted Catlo.

  “Why? Should we be concerned that there is a dragon here?” asked Aisha. She wasn’t actually worried but she needed to keep him talking until she could find a way to escape.

  “You’ll see soon enough,” Catlo answered, with a laugh.

  They were covered in shadows by the steep canyon walls while clouds overhead turned the sky a steel grey, and Aisha wondered if a flashflood could be the true danger here.

  A few more long bends and they stopped along a wide, flat face of stone. Glyphs were splashed on the living rock with some archaic paint. Probably made from ochre, cinnabar, and iron oxides, Aisha guessed. There were men and deer, dogs, fish, and gazelle; there were buffalo and elephants, lions and tigers, horses and—overwhelming them all—a great black dragon. The glyphs were crude and ancient and some of them were not to scale by any means, but there was no denying what was lord here, what ruled over the others. The black dragon shape seemed ready to breathe fire and roast the figures of men that prostrated themselves before it.

  “How old is it?” asked Aisha.

  Catlo answered, “The Umoja tell me that it has always been here, since before they migrated into these lands. That would make it over a thousand years old at the least, maybe more.”

  “It is a bad omen,” said one of the Avarans. Aisha thought his name was Feroze.

  Catlo laughed at him. “Then you have no business being on this adventure. Go back to your father’s goat farm!”

  Feroze protested. “I didn’t say I would quit. I just think it is a bad sign.” He made a ward against evil with his thumb and mouth, flicking spittle toward the black drawing.

  “We ride on, let’s go,” said Catlo. “We are almost to camp.” He rode ahead of Ole now and sure enough the canyon opened wider until they were at its mouth and looked down into a valley below.

  They turned to the right and up a steep embankment to another slot canyon that Aisha thought even she would have missed had she not known what to look for.

  Catlo abruptly halted and he waved his arm, looking up at the sheer face of rock.

  Aisha wondered who he was waving at when a darkly clad man came into view from high above and repeated the gesture.

  “That’s Galtier, my second in command,” he said to Aisha. “You will like him.”

  Aisha snorted.

  “Or at the least, he will like you,” said Catlo with a cruel bark of a laugh.

  Catlo signaled them to follow single file through the gap. “Didn’t I tell you we had a perfect spot for camp? No one could find us up here, not even those three’s tribe,” he said, gesturing to the Umoja. “And just back that way,” he pointed out past where the canyon opened up, “is the old ivory road. Follow that south and you come to the Temple of the Buffalo, going north will take you to Jepra and Perkusi.”

  At least now she had her bearings again and knew which way to go when she could escape. Hopefully tonight.

  The precarious trail wound back and forth up the steep mountainside. It was set with strange stone and embankments to help conceal it from the canyon below and Aisha had to concede it was an ingenious path.

  There was a natural level spot before a crude archway, further helping to conceal it from view.

  As they passed through the archway, the black clad man, Galtier, asked, “Did you find him? Where is the map?” He had a sinister looking caste about his face between a dark forked beard and missing eye.

  “She is our map,” answered Catlo, thumbing back toward Aisha.

  Galtier squinted at her with his one good eye. “She looks like a Valchiki warrior.”

  “She is,” answered Ole, as he leapt from the saddle. “And she is under my protection.”

  “I will have my way with her,” said Galtier.

  “No. You. Won’t,” said Ole firmly. He stood head and shoulders above Galtier.

  “It is my right, as the second of this band,” snapped Galtier, putting a hand on his knife hilt.

  “Galtier, I already told Ole I would honor his request. Besides, the Iron Maiden would kill you,” said Catlo.

  “Iron Maiden?” questioned Galtier, as he ran his eye up and down her body. He stared a little too long at her breasts.

  Aisha lunged at him despite her wrists still being bound. Galtier jerked backward, almost tripping over himself. The others laughed at him.

  Catlo dismounted and said with a laugh, “That is Aisha, Iron Maiden of the Black Coast.
She is our map. So let it go.”

  Galtier scowled and fingered his hilt a moment before removing his hand once he saw Ole still staring daggers at him. “So be it.”

  The campsite was well provisioned, and Aisha knew these men meant business. This was not an adventure drunkenly decided in a tavern one night. This was well planned, perhaps taking many drunken nights. Carts and oxen were in a corral nearby, while a crude stable had been built to house a dozen horses. A few adobe shelters had been fashioned Umoja style. These took advantage of natural cavities in the rock and kept one cool during the heat of the day. Squared openings with ladders were used to let oneself in and out.

  Besides Galtier, there were at least a dozen persons scattered about. A few more Umoja warriors, a pair of Umoja women—one of them very old—another Avaran-looking man, three pale men from either Tolburn or one of the other Galinese city-states, and most curious, a sultry Avaran or Kathulian-looking woman who seemed completely out of place. She was tall and lithe, yet voluptuous with dark auburn hair like a stygian sunset. A golden head band set with a great ruby held her hair back. She wore a pale green gown and girdle of the finest make, but dirty and torn. Her eyes were smudged with dark blue makeup, something Aisha had heard women used in royal courts but had never actually seen before. It appeared that this woman was a prisoner to the whims of these men just like she was.

  One of the Avarans barked at her to cook for them and she slowly complied after exchanging glances with Aisha, who she guessed must have looked just as odd to her. Aisha imagined that a pampered woman from Irem or Kathul would not be accustomed to seeing warrior women, even one now a prisoner.

  Aisha decided this unfortunate wretch must have been captured along the way south and perhaps she could befriend her and find out something of the Kathulian plans before she escaped. Any option to further her own cause and mission.

  “What are you looking at her for?” asked Catlo with dripping contempt. “She is too good for the likes of you. I don’t even let my own men touch her.”

  Aisha snapped, “I didn’t know you were going to bring your own whore on this journey.”

  Catlo made as if to slap Aisha, but even as she braced for the impact the strange woman shouted, “I am no one’s whore! I am Lady Diamanda Tarja, daughter of his most excellent Sulieman Tarja, grand sultan of Irem. And I will not be addressed as such by this dark-skinned trollop! Do you hear me, Captain Catlo!”

  For all Catlo’s bravado, arrogance, and plain meanness earlier, he was cowed by the scornful woman’s words and raised an apologetic hand to her. He then promptly slapped Aisha, who was caught unawares by the outburst. “You hear that? Don’t presume you know everything about everyone!” he said with a chuckle. “And you,” he gestured at Diamanda, “go and cook me some lamb. I hunger.”

  Diamanda looked as if the order had slapped her, but turned and went to do his bidding.

  Aisha angrily swore to herself that she would get even with Catlo as soon as possible, but for now she bit her tongue, waiting for the right moment to strike.

  Catlo pointed after Diamanda. “You see, even a highborn princess knows her place. I hope you discover your place soon too, before something bad happens.” He laughed and stalked away.

  Ole stood impassive nearby but handed Aisha a water skin and said, “I have given you my word that no true harm will come to you. I will not allow him to maim or defile you.”

  “I won’t either.”

  Ole nodded and grinned.

  Aisha pointed at the princess. “Who is that woman? I heard her name and titles, but why is she here? Why bring her along? It seems a liability.”

  “She is,” Ole answered, “but I cannot say any more of that now. Trust me, we will be rid of her at the soonest convenience.” He walked away to conference with Catlo and Galtier, leaving her beside a small crackling fire that gave off virtually no smoke. The old Umoja woman was tending it.

  The old woman looked at Aisha for a long moment. She had conversed briefly with the three Umoja men and Aisha had noticed that she had stood up to look at Zahur’s body. Was there a resemblance there, she wondered?

  Finally, the old woman broke the silence. “You are the one who slew Zahur? Keeper of the great secret?”

  Aisha reluctantly nodded. “I did. I thought him a bandit since he shot an arrow at me in ambush. I retaliated, not knowing whom had shot at me. I am sorry if he was your kin.”

  The old woman nodded. “I am Neema. He was my elder brother.”

  “I am sorry, I didn’t know that—”

  Neema raised her hand to quiet Aisha. “I hold no ill will at you. He was King of the great secret for many years and I always knew it would be his fate to die and pass on the secret. I just didn’t think it would be to a woman or an outsider.”

  “I didn’t ask for this fate.”

  Neema cracked a smile. “Fate is destiny,” she said as she drew a knife and cut Aisha’s bonds.

  Aisha flexed her sore hands and shook her head. She then removed the silver band that held back her hair. She drew it back and put it into a ponytail before replacing the band. “Don’t know that I much care for fate. I’d like to think my character is my fate. So said my father.”

  “A wise man,” replied Neema. “But the gods also dice with our fate and place us into the hands of destiny. There must be a reason that you gained the secret of Zahur, when so many others could not.”

  “I wish I could put it back. I’d like nothing more than to ride on. I have my own business to attend to.”

  This brought a frown from Neema. “The gods have touched you and say that it is for you to accomplish this thing. You must gain entrance to Mount Jokameno. It is your destiny now.”

  Aisha narrowed her gaze at the old woman. “Why is it necessary? If the mountain and graveyard of dragons is sacred to your people, why should I show these greedy fools where it is?”

  Neema laughed, though it sounded more akin to a dry cough. “The gods have their mysterious ways. Through evil men much good in the world can be done. It all matters on where you stand. Perspective and the greater good.”

  “Is that why you are here?”

  Neema stood and stretched. “I was once like you when I was young. I was a warrior woman, I was brave and strong. I killed many enemies of my people and I hunted the lions and even slew a long-legged drake beside the temple of the crocodile once. But more than anything I wanted to know the secret of the mountain. I begged my uncle to tell me, but he would not. Then my brother went and killed him and he became the great keeper of the secret. I was so very jealous. I went to slay my brother that I might be a queen and know what only the ghosts remembered.” She looked far away at the gathering twilight.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Neema turned and faced Aisha. “They told me no.”

  “They? Your tribe?”

  Neema shook her head. “The spirits of the mountain, the gods. They told me I was not the woman to wake the mountain, that another would come someday.” She smiled, revealing that she was missing several teeth. “I was promised I would see that prophecy fulfilled and now I have.”

  “I am not here to take anything from you.”

  Neema knelt beside Aisha. “No, you make me very happy. I am grateful that a woman will do this thing and fulfill destiny.”

  “But then they,” she pointed at Catlo and the others, “may become rich on the dragon’s hoard.”

  “If the gods will that, then so be it. But I think there is just as good a chance they will all be devoured.”

  “But there aren’t dragons anymore. They are all dead. No one has reported seeing one in a hundred years.”

  Neema leaned closer toward Aisha, looked her in the eye, and shook her head. “I think not. I can see you are touched by the dragon gods. You must have seen one when you were young. You bear their mark.”

  Aisha shook her head. “That was just a dream. The dragons are all dead and gone.”

  The old woman cracked a smile. “
They but sleep,” said Neema, with a shrug.

  Aisha didn’t like where this was going. She was used to people remarking on the strangeness of her eyes but this was coming too close to her heart and her dead father. She changed the subject. “Are you coming with us?”

  Neema shook her head with a frown. “I don’t think I could make it. My bones are too brittle.”

  “How did you come to be here with these men?”

  “Musa, Nyo, and Hodari are my grandsons. They told me what they were doing. I think they damn their souls and betray the tribe with their greed, but if the time has come for the mountain to awake, I wanted to know about it. Seeing you and your eyes, I know the time has come. You will awake the mountain.”

  “Me and my eyes?” asked Aisha.

  Neema nodded sagely. “You have a dragon’s eyes.”

  Aisha had been called a devil, a demon, a witch, a sorceress, and all manner of things, but no one had ever said that. “Dragon’s eyes?”

  “You have dragon blood in you.”

  “That’s impossible. I was born in the north near Tomabusi. My parents were farmers. We have no sacred blood, no story to tell. That is not true.”

  “Your eyes do not lie like your tongue does, girl. You have a dragon’s yellow eyes and black obsidian irises. You have the blood of dragons in you.”

  Aisha shut her eyes and though Neema was silent, the words echoed loud as thunder. “No,” she shook her head.

  Neema put her hands upon Aisha’s forehead. “Let me see.”

  A shock went through Aisha’s body and it was as if she was in the dream again. She was running toward her father, the knee-high grass swaying at his feet. A dark shadow wheeled overhead, and the look of terror spread over his face. He cried out at her to get away, but she ran faster toward him, this time Neema was running beside her. This gave her courage and she ran even faster. She was almost to him. A mere ten paces away, when black claws of obsidian wrapped crushingly around his chest and he was yanked into the air.

  This time she wasn’t alone. Neema was holding her hand, and they both looked up. A dragon held her father in its grasp like an eagle might snatch a hare. But this hare had teeth. As the dragon bent its neck to bite his head off, her father strained with his staff and drove it into the yellow eyes of the dragon. It roared in pain. Her father shouted in agonizing triumph.