Once upon a time, the vineyards of Sa Dul stood as proud, beautiful works created by the sheer determination of their keepers: rows upon rows of sweet grapes flourishing amongst emerald leaves that cast golden sunlight and dappled shade across the calm surface of well-tended canals. Rich, dark earth deposited by the river had made the wines of the region quite famous, and while Ilati had never been to Sa Dul, even secluded away within Zu’s temple she knew the name. Poets deep in their cups sang of its beauty, gentle pastoralism, and the delights found in its fruits. Many similar communities up and down the river had done well for themselves, and Sa Dul was the crown of all of them, if the songs were true.
No such beauty existed now. Choking weeds with dagger-like thorns had sprouted everywhere throughout the vineyards and garden spaces. The withered grapes that endured hung limply on the vines, turning slowly in a breeze that rattled dying leaves. Here and there were the desperate signs of farmers’ attempts to uproot the interloping plants, but it seemed all such efforts were abandoned. Broken hoes and other tools lay on the ground discarded. Even the water of the River Nintu seemed brackish in the canals, sluggish flow topped by a stinking yellow foam not unlike the pus from an infected wound. Not a shred of green could be seen, only brown. Even the banks of the river were barren of reeds, dry and pale where they should have been moist and dark.
“What a ruin.” Menes drew his horse to a stop beside Ilati and Eigou as they crested the last of the low hills overlooking Sa Dul. The devastation stretched outwards from Sa Dul in every direction. “Woe to the villagers who tend this crop.”
Eigou glanced over his shoulder at Ilati, who rode Ankhu behind him. The mule flicked his ears nervously. “It seems the rumors were true.”
Despite knowing what awaited in Sa Dul, Ilati was grateful they had come instead of circumventing it. Ilati thought of the five arrows waiting in her quiver. She had checked three times to ensure the glue had dried since Shir Del came back with the first scouting reports.
Tahmasp scowled, shading his eyes from the sun with one hand. “It will be impossible to graze here as we had hoped, and that water…better that we pitch camp with the herds back at the bend in the river and stay far from this accursed farmland.” He eyed Eigou. “Rumors?”
Eigou offered the clearly displeased Sut Resi seer a disarming smile. “The man we encountered, my countryman, he told me that there was a demon plaguing Sa Dul.”
For a moment, Ilati could see an incandescent rage building in Tahmasp, one she was well familiar with after being his pupil as well.
“You said nothing of this!”
“Would you have come this way had I warned?” Eigou asked mildly.
“Of course not!” Tahmasp almost sputtered, clearly not expecting the question.
The sorcerer was the very picture of good cheer. “And that is why I did not. These people need our help.”
“They need our help?” Tahmasp pointed at Ilati. “Is one demon not enough for you, madman?”
Shir Del approached from the direction of the setting sun, announced by the clopping of Araxa’s hooves. The stallion was as eager for battle as the sons of the northern kings. “There is something moving in the area. Roshanak said the water further back is safe enough for the animals, but I would not risk drinking it.”
Menes rubbed at the back of his neck. “It is stalked by a great evil, it seems. We should have taken another path, Eigou, or at least decided as a group. Guile wins you no friends.” His horse shifted beneath him, not as brave as Araxa. “Better to camp away. I do not think the beasts will get close to the place anyway.”
Ilati caught movement among the vines and pointed to a handful of figures moving towards them like the living dead. The women and men shambled forward, weeping and tearing at their hair. “I would say the people’s sorrow is well known to them.” A distinct twinge of pity struck her as the miserable villagers moved through their devastated crops.
Without the grapes, they could not make wine to trade for other things they might need, tools or grain. If the curse afflicted their vegetable gardens too and drove off the animals, the people would starve. Sa Dul was dying.
The villagers stopped a short distance away, respectfully allowing the riders to decide if they were real or not. Three were young men, wasted from hunger with a desperate fear in their eyes, and the last was a woman with careworn lines carved into her forehead as if into lifeless clay. “You have come to a place of great misfortune, travelers. We cannot offer you hospitality,” she called, clearly the elder of the group.
A fevered light struck the youngest man’s eyes at the sight of their bows and Menes’s sword. “They are warriors. Please, you must spare us this torment. Chase the evil that lurks here from this place with fire and bronze!”
“Such things are not so simple,” Tahmasp growled. He had never been very sympathetic to those beyond the Sut Resi, and Eigou’s deception had not endeared outsiders to him.
Ilati wiped a hand across her forehead, smoothing away the hair that clung to the sweat on her brow after a day of hard riding. They looked dirty and feral, probably more like bandits than anything else, but there was nothing here to steal. “We hear you, people of Sa Dul,” she said as gently as she could manage with Tahmasp glaring at her. She straightened and tried to conjure the bearing of a high priestess, even months from the palace and the ziggurat she had called her home. “Let us speak and see what might be done.”
The young men blinked, startled that it was Ilati who had spoken, not Eigou or Menes. She had her bow and a bronze dagger, but the sorcerer partly obscured her on the mule and she looked far less impressive a warrior than Shir Del, Menes, and Tahmasp.
Whatever their feelings on the matter, it was the older woman who spoke. “Any aid you and your fellows can offer would be welcome. I am Hedis. These are my sons, Shammu and Kaspum, and my daughter’s husband, Tirigan.”
“My name is Ilati,” the priestess said, covering her heart with both hands. “Hopefully we can put an end to your troubles.”
Tahmasp sighed, clearly now resigned to the part his people would play in this. “I will tell the chieftain,” he said, turning his horse. “I leave this matter in your hands.”
“How dour,” Eigou commented, tastefully waiting until Tahmasp was out of earshot. The sorcerer had some sense of self-preservation. He nudged Ankhu forward, but the beast refused to step a foot closer to the withered vines, planting as only a mule could. “Ah, it seems we will be walking.”
“Our horses are bolder,” Shir Del said with confidence. She looked eager for a battle, even against a demonic foe. “Still, better that Roshanak and the others stay back. The horses will want to eat. I will take Ankhu back to the herd, then meet you in the village.”
Ilati dismounted with Eigou’s help, landing as tenderly as possible on her wounded leg. The limp was getting better, particularly since she could rest her leg while riding.
Hedis forced a smile, face still stained by her tears. “Be welcome, strangers. Just know there is little comfort here, I warn you. Several armed parties have passed by, all losing souls to the demon. You are welcome to sit beneath the shade of the date palms and hear of our desolation, but do not wander in the dark. That is when the creature comes.”
Ilati and her companions followed the group of villagers to a squat mud-brick building near the center of the vineyards. Wan-faced misery watched their approach from the other thresholds in the town, but no one else approached. Ilati made a sign to avert the envious eye, aware that the desperation of starving souls was a danger unto itself. “How long have you suffered so?” the priestess asked as they approached the shade. Even the palms had thorns growing around their roots that slowly squeezed life away, ounce by precious ounce.
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“A cycle of the moon.” Hedis took a seat on the low wall that ran alongside the palms. “It came as suddenly as a summer storm and you see what it has done to the place. We wither just as the fruit upon the vine does.”
Eigou put a hand on Ilati’s shoulder as he studied Hedis. “Do you have any idea what might have called forth the demon?”
The woman hesitated, so her youngest spoke up. “The envious eye,” Shammu said. He squared his jaw, something between anger and the wariness of an asp with its hood raised in his expression. “Sa Dul was prosperous beyond many. They would be pleased to see us fall so they might take our place.”
“Evil magic?” Ilati weighed the suggestion carefully. It made sense that such a thing could break the natural order. “You did not invoke your gods when it wronged you?”
“We cried out and burned many offerings.” Hedis shuddered slightly. “It only seemed to make the beast bolder.”
Eigou squeezed Ilati’s shoulder meaningfully. “That is unusual, from what I understand of such things. Gods normally cluster to offerings and hear such prayers. For a demon to defy them…”
“Perhaps there is more that we cannot see,” Menes said thoughtfully. He glanced towards the horizon. “The sun is low, Eigou. Are we going to confront it tonight?”
Ilati took a deep breath. She was terrified of what waited in the darkness, but she had all but given her word to both Eigou and Hedis. “I will try to stop it tonight. The rest of you will have to defend the villagers.”
The ferocity of a leopard, so often hidden behind Menes’s gentleness, suddenly reared its head. He was on his feet in a moment, sending Hedis cowering. “Alone? Absolutely not!”
The priestess reached down into herself, seeking the stone foundation laid by her mother. Ilati’s bearing straightened just like the dead queen’s would have and she met Menes’s eyes with a fearsome glare. “That was not a request, Menes. The villagers are defenseless. I am not. They will need you more.”
The man of Magan’s brow furrowed and he moved his gaze to Eigou with an accusing sharpness. “You are fine with this?”
Eigou leaned back slightly and scratched at his beard. “One does not know how bronze has set until the mold is broken, Menes.”
“It is her broken bones I think of, not your poetry!” Menes thundered.
“What good are your lessons if she never applies them, o leopard?” The sorcerer hardened and leaned forward, planting his palms on his knees. “You said that you would prepare her for battle, here is a battle.”
“Against a demon?”
“Easier than the one we will face in the end.” Ilati put a hand out, touching Menes’s arm. “I do not need your approval, my friend, only your assistance.”
Menes lost none of his fearsome aspect. For a moment, his dark eyes flashed to meet hers. “You will get yourself killed. You are injured and half-trained.”
“Perhaps, but at least it will be my decision. You trusted me in the desert to return, Menes. Trust me to do the same here.” Ilati softened her tone. “I am grateful for your protection, but if we are to go to war together, then there must be trust.”
A shadow fell across the group of them: Shir Del on Araxa’s back, bow hanging at her side. She had not bothered to string it, more than capable of doing so even from her horse’s back. It was a feat of dexterity that Ilati had yet to master. “I think it is a fine idea,” the warrior woman said approvingly. “Who among us is better equipped? She can ride, she can fire a bow, and she has her magic.”
“Of course you would,” Menes muttered darkly.
Tahmasp pulled his horse to a stop at Araxa’s shoulder. The old shaman still seemed dour, particularly to be present. “She can at least earn her keep. We don’t have much time if the demon comes at nightfall. There are doors to ward, protections to lay.” He looked over at the three young men of the village, hungry and sick. “Come with me and the one-eyed troublemaker. We know something of warding away the evil eye.”
Ilati turned back to Hedis. “Go tell everyone to go within their homes and bar the doors. We will have a warrior at each house to guard. I will meet the creature at the center.”
Shir Del stroked Araxa’s neck. “You will want a mount, Ilati. Demons are swift and your leg is still not healed.”
“I will stay above it and attack from hiding,” Ilati said, motioning to the flat roof of the granary closest to the well.
Kaspum, the elder son, put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “What would you ask of us to be rid of this demon, sorceress?” His voice was a deep, resonant baritone that seemed much stronger than his wasted flesh. There was wariness to him, but also gratitude. “Magic is not a small thing, nor is challenging a beast that has slain everyone who sought to strike it down.”
The priestess’s expression stayed gentle. “Am I so miserly, son of Hedis, that I would demand talents of silver or bushels of grain from those who have suffered so? I require nothing.”
“We must give you something.” Kaspum raised his chin with the remnants of his pride. To rely wholly on the charity of another was not in his nature. “A debt unpaid is a stone in one's heel.”
She supposed that in his position, she would have felt the same. “Then when the demon troubles you no longer, you will make an offering of your finest wine as a libation, poured out to my goddess.”
The young man nodded. “And what god has sent you, that we may sing their praises?”
“I will teach you the words when it is finished.” Ilati’s life as high priestess of Zu had taught her much of what sacrifices were most pleasing to gods. The Mother of Night Winds did not have an appetite for things of civilization as her old goddess had, but she would no doubt understand the gift of something so deeply prized and intertwined with the wellbeing of Sa Dul. Sacrifices were symbols as much as the actual substance that made them up.
“Then it will be so,” Kaspum promised.
Shammu crossed his arms. “Has magic not done enough?”
His brother glared at him. “It has not taken your voice.”
Hedis snapped her teeth together in disapproval. “Kaspum, speak not so! I would not have you will such a curse into being.”
“Wise.” Eigou stood with a groan, then stretched out each of his old knees. “Too long in one place. So, Tahmasp and I will see what we can come up with for protections for each house. Salt and water painted upon the door in a sign of power will do much.”
“I will pray to Earthmother for their protection as well,” the seer grumbled. “Shir Del and Menes will fetch more of our people to wait with the villagers, but upon your shoulders is the demon, Ilati.” For a moment, she thought she saw a flash of concern cross his leathery features. “I trust you will not be a fool, nor falter.”
Shir Del couldn’t resist the opportunity to prod the shaman. “That is the kindest thing I think you have ever said to her. Soon you will be as much in her camp as Eigou.”
Both old men exchanged a wordless look at that pronouncement before heading off to secure the defenses of the village. Ilati had full confidence in their abilities, even if their personalities had a habit of clashing. Shir Del looked toward the setting sun. “They had best hurry. Menes, come, let us fetch others swiftly.” She leaned down, putting a hand on Ilati’s shoulder and squeezing tight. “Be careful, little sister. To combat a demon is not to combat a man.”
“I prepared,” Ilati said as she pulled out the bundle of five arrows. Uparmiya had fletched them with a peerless hand, carefully binding and trimming gray goose feathers. They were shorter than normal, designed to be fired with the duma that Sut Resi archers used: a grooved piece of wood worn on the hand holding a bow, so it could generate even more power by firing an arrow too short for the bow. It meant that enemy archers could not fire them back. Not that such was a concern here, but Ilati wanted the shots as strong as possible.
Ilati had coated each shaft in charcoal and dulled the gleam of the obsidian heads to make it harder for the demon to find her by sight. She couldn’t help if it had other senses, but she hoped it would buy herself time. Everywhere on her arms and hands that she could write was stained with the wedged-shaped writing of her people, prayers honoring K’adau and inviting in her power.
“I was wondering what you were doing with that paint,” Shir Del said. “You knew of this demon?”
“Eigou warned me,” Ilati said. She squeezed Shir Del’s hand on her shoulder. “I will be careful.”
The warrior woman nodded, then turned Araxa back towards the Sut Resi camp. “That is enough for me." She looked over at Hedis. "Woman of sorrow, does this demon come from a direction?”
“East with the moon,” the village woman said as she rose to follow her sons into their home. “Gods guide and defend you.”
Ilati nodded and wasted no time, heading for the granary’s flat roof. It stood about ten feet tall, but there was a ladder there to climb. She pulled in a deep breath and turned to the east, stringing her bow with the help of a foot once she was ready. Her fingers danced nervously on the string and her leg ached. Hopefully, the Mother of Night Winds would send her a sign.
Her heart sank into her stomach as the waning crescent of the moon slowly crept up the sky into the sky, leaving much of the world below in darkness. Her arrow shots were even less likely to strike their target. Worse yet, the omen: Alanni’s child shone a dull, bloody red.
As the night swallowed the land, Ilati heard it coming: a deep, low growl that rumbled through the abandoned streets, rising and rising in pitch and growing in volume until it became the demented howl of a madman shrieking like the night winds themselves.