by Matthew X. Gomez
in Issue 144, January 2024
The call of seabirds dragged Liam the Black back to the land of the living. He blinked his eyes, gritty from sand, against the blazing ball of the sun overhead. His entire body ached, the victim of bludgeoning by waves and the detritus of the sea. He blinked again and tried to remember what had happened.
He remembered sleeping in his paid berth aboard the cog, having departed from Uqrephis with some haste. His coin depleted rapidly due to the necessary bribes to captain and dockmaster… plus the incentive to the crew. Two days of peaceful travel, followed by… what exactly? He struggled to remember. Gingerly he touched an egg-shaped lump on his head. That would explain the haze of his memory.
He sat up, slowly, every muscle in protest, and took stock of his surroundings. Broken planks and barrels lay strewn about on the beach, like a giant petulant child having discarded his toys. Liam felt for the knife he habitually carried in his belt, only to feel its absence. Likewise, there was no sign of the satchel containing his mystical unguents and dyes. Of the crew and captain, there was no sign save for a few motionless bodies washed up on the surf.
Staring out over the waters, he could see no sign of sail or land other than what he was on. His tongue licked parched lips, a sign of more immediate needs than simply leaving here… wherever here happened to be. Swallowing his revulsion, he approached one of the bodies. Thankfully, this one had a knife in an oilskin sheath hanging from a cord around his neck. The cord had twisted and wrapped itself around the poor unfortunate’s neck. Liam worked the blade free. It was smaller than he would have preferred, but sharp enough at least.
Shading his eyes from the blazing sun, he headed inland, eyes and ears alert for danger. Other than the incessant susurration of insects, and the harsh call of an unseen bird, the interior of the land was quiet. He drank water collected on a large frond but ignored the growl of his belly for the moment. He pushed through the undergrowth for a while, the sun climbing higher into the sky before he stumbled across a path cutting through the forest. The line was too straight and clean to be an animal trail, and the flat stone blocks jutting from the ground belied its artificial construction.
He set foot on the path, then froze when he felt the cold steel kiss of a blade against his neck.
“Who are you?” a man asked.
Out of the corner of his eye, Liam could see he wore livery of red and gold over a mail shirt. The man’s head was bare and his face clean shaven.
“I was shipwrecked-” The man cuffed him behind the ear with his free hand. “No lies, spy. Hands behind your back.”
Having little choice, Liam placed his hands behind his back. The swordsman took the knife from his grasp and bound his wrists with a short loop of rope. The man pushed Liam ahead of him, leading him down the path and back toward the beach.
“Where am I?” Liam asked and received another blow for his trouble. He stumbled and nearly fell before catching himself.
“Talkative type, huh?”
Liam flinched away from the anticipated blow, but it never came. He decided to keep his mouth shut for now, seeing as how he would not receive any answers anyway.
They emerged onto the beach. Anchored out in the bay was a trireme, and a pavilion had been erected on the beach. Under its canopy lounged a woman. A gossamer gown of silk clung to her every ripe curve. A plate of grapes lay within her reach, and she slowly popped each morsel into her mouth with languorous ease. Blue and silver kohl decorated her eyes, a bejeweled belt shimmered around her waist, and soft silken slippers covered her feet. A man, stripped to the waist, slowly waved a long-feathered fan. More swordsman, kitted out the same as Liam’s captor, stood around the pavilion, all of them looking alert and uneasy.
“Who is this?” the woman asked, as the swordsman pushed Liam forward.
“He claims he was shipwrecked. He might even be telling the truth, given the state he is in.”
“And does he have a name?”
“I didn’t ask,” the swordsman replied.
“Mehdi,” the woman said, shaking her long, dark tresses. “What kind of hosts are we if we don’t even give our guests a chance to identify themselves?”
“Forgive me, mistress.”
“Well?” the woman asked. “Do you have a name? From the look of you – pale skin, dark hair, blue eyes, I’d guess you were a northern barbarian. Can you even understand what we are saying?”
“I’m called Liam.”
“So you do understand us!” She sat up and clapped her hands together. Liam thought she looked like a small child, suddenly pleased with a new toy or pet. It did not put him at ease. “So, Liam as you are called, I am Anahit. If you were shipwrecked as you say, then it is fortunate for us both that you arrived at this island.”
Liam wrinkled his nose at the mention of “island.” “Island” meant that he would need a boat. He had hoped he had landed on some isolated strip of land and could perhaps make his way toward a caravan route. “Fortunate how?”
“Where we are now was once the seat of power for my family,” Anahit said. “Wait, untie him first. Bring water and food. I believe there is some of that roast chicken left, isn’t there?”
“Mistress?” Mehdi asked.
Anahit lowered her eyes at Mehdi. “Do you think a single unarmed man to be that much of a threat? Do you think he could do me harm when I have you at my side?”
Mehdi coughed into his fist and gestured toward the nearby servants. Liam reevaluated exactly how much danger he was in, and it wasn’t from any of the soldiers.
“You must forgive Mehdi,” Anahit said. “He still thinks of me as an untried girl, no matter how often I disabuse him of that notion.”
Liam approached Anahit and sat cross-legged on the carpet spread out in the pavilion. Someone poured water into a crystal goblet and pressed it into his hand. Someone else handed him a silver platter with chicken and grapes and a dense black bread. He ate and drank slowly, not out of any fear of poison, but because he did not want his stomach to rebel at this nourishment.
“I have heard tell of a northern magician, one who deals with demons and practices blood magic. I think his name was also Liam. Tell me, is that you?”
Liam paused mid bite. He set the goblet down and looked at Anahi and thought of lying. “I am he,” he said. He frowned, his tongue having answered before he was ready.
“And were you truly shipwrecked?” she asked.
“I was.” He stared down at the food in front of him. “What sorcery…”
“No real sorcery,” Anahit replied. “The simple magic of knowing what herbs to mix in the correct quantities. I find it rather dull and beyond me, but I know how best to use people… how to best leverage their talents.”
“And you want to put me to your use as well,” Liam replied.
Anahit smiled. “As you say. So. If you were truly shipwrecked, then you have no idea as to the significance of this island.”
Liam shook his head. “I confess, I do not.”
“Unsurprising, really. Its history has been confined to long dusty archives and the mist of legends. At a certain point, however, this island was a seat of power. Kings and queens made it their home, and high priests gave worship to gods and demons that posed as gods. Alas, like all things, it came to an end. At one point, though, my family counted themselves among the rulers. That path that Mehdi found you on? It was once the road that led to the palace. Under the sands of this beach and the waters of the ocean lay the ruins of a mighty port. Sadly, the sheltered bay is all that remains. After a thousand years, almost all crumbles to dust.”
Liam blinked. Nearly without thinking he picked up the goblet and took another sip, then picked up the chicken leg and took another bite. It might be drugged, but he had more than a passing suspicion he would need all his strength for whatever came next. “Fascinating. But I fail to see what this has to do with me.”
“There is a diadem that long ago belonged to my family. Family legend has it we left it here when we abandoned the island, locked within the tomb below the palace. I want you to retrieve it.”
“You came all this way for a bit of jewelry? Surely there’s more to it than that.”
Anahit smiled and stretched but didn’t answer him. “Mehdi. See that he’s given clothes and maybe a blade. Then take him to where you discovered the entrance. Liam, I expect you to emerge with the diadem or not at all.”
Liam’s frown deepened until it seemed a dark thunderhead hovered over him. “I understand,” he said through gritted teeth. He downed the rest of the water and stripped the last of the flesh from the chicken with his teeth. Mehdi led him off some distance and handed him clothes of red and gold that mostly fit.
“I want a knife,” Liam said.
Mehdi tried to hand him a long, curved saber but he waved it off. “I said a knife. In there, a saber is too long and would get in my way.”
Mehdi looked doubtful but handed Liam a knife. He recognized it as the same as he had taken from the dead sailor. He pulled on a pair of boots that mostly fit, and let Mehdi lead him into the jungle of the interior. Three other soldiers accompanied them. Only Mehdi did not look nervous.
“How many others have died already?” Liam asked.
“I beg your pardon?” Mehdi replied.
“You heard me. If the answer were ‘none’ she wouldn’t be so keen as to send me after the treasure, and the rest of you lot wouldn’t be so relieved that it isn’t one of you being sent. Tell me I’m wrong.”
No one answered him, but Liam could see Mehdi’s arms tense and knew that he wanted to lash out. But if Liam was killed, it would be him or one of his men to be sent next. He wondered at Anahit’s power, given that the men had not mutinied. Yet.
As they walked down the path, Liam spied broken columns lining the way, reaching like the jagged, broken fingers of a giant buried under the green. As they walked on, the surrounding area grew quieter. First the bird calls died away, then the buzzing of insects, so that the only sound was the breathing of the men and their soft tread on the path.
“Here,” Mehdi said, stopping before a slight mound just off the main path. “We identified this as an entranceway.”
Liam raised an eyebrow. Mehdi pushed a hanging weave of branches to one side, revealing a dark maw of an entrance. One of the guards handed the sack slung over his shoulder to Liam. Inside were several torches, as well as a length of rope and two water skins.
“Think this will be enough?” Liam asked.
Mehdi shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Do not let the scene on the beach fool you. We are running low on supplies and men. Still, there are more than enough of us to deal with you should you try and betray Lady Anahit.”
Liam snorted. “I noticed.” He jammed one end of the torch in the crack between two stones. A bit of work with flint and steel and soon he had a blazing brand. He tried to think of something pithy to say and failed. He entered the dark entranceway instead, the darkness closing around him.
The tunnel he entered had once been wider and grander. One wall had caved in over the years, the outside vegetation breaking through in places. He stepped carefully around and over chunks of masonry. The wall on his left was mostly intact, the torchlight illuminating graven scenes of worshippers prostrate, of sacrifices given to shrouded figures towering over the masses. Liam wondered how much of that was artistic license. He paused at one depicted scene and peered closer. Animals of a type he was unfamiliar with dominated one scene. It resembled something of a man, only with a flatter face and prominent fangs and limbs longer and bulkier than any Liam had seen. It reminded him of tales he had heard from well-travelled traders speaking of foreign lands. The word ape bubbled to the surface of his mind.
He proceeded further down the passage, ducking under thick cobwebs. Footprints in the dust preceded him into the darkness, and he kept his eyes and ears open lest any of Anahit’s men survived. A few moments later and a turn in the passage, and he came across the first body. Most of it had been crushed under a heavy block of masonry. The victim had tripped some wire or stepped on a pressure plate of some kind. Only the man’s hand, still clutching the burned-out stump of a torch, was visible. Liam moved closer, the light from his torch sending insects scattering from the congealed blood. He stepped around the grisly tableau. A few minutes later, he found the next body, the victim’s mouth still open in surprise. This one was skewered by a set of spears. They had been propelled with such force that their verdigris tips had emerged on the other end. Liam wondered at the efficacy of the trap maker whose designs still worked after countless years of neglect.
Soon after he came to a branching passage. Footprints went both to the left and the right. The smoke from his torch blew back from the right, however, telling him fresher air led that way. Using his blade, he scored the wall to mark his passage before continuing. Entering a larger chamber, he paused. He couldn’t quite make out the other side as it was still cloaked in shadow, but what resembled large stone sarcophagi lined either side. Great brass braziers stood next to each; blackened lumps of charcoal still piled within. This time there were two corpses in the middle of the floor, a cloud of flies buzzing into the air as Liam approached.
Kneeling down, he checked for signs of trauma. The eyes were gone from both unfortunates, but he put that down to the work of the flies, given the crawling maggots in place of the orbs. Both had a line like a burn mark around their throats. Liam narrowed his eyes, and looked around the chamber, trying to determine where the attack might have come from. Hidden in the sarcophagi, perhaps? As he stood up, he felt a feather light touch around his neck. Ducking, he twisted, but the cord was around his throat, suddenly tightening. He felt his feet leave the floor, saw the black spots form in his vision as he struggled and failed to breathe. He dropped his torch, plunging the chamber into darkness. His fingers fumbled for his knife, finding it as he tried unsuccessfully to wedge his fingers between the cord and his throat. He kicked, his body growing weaker, but his feet only met open air. Cutting at the cord with his knife, he felt something give, a cold liquid splashed against his neck as he fell to the floor. He came up, gasping, clutching his neck. He found the torch and used its smoldering embers to light another. The chamber remained empty. Looking up, he saw a vine thick as his wrist writhing and twisting, dripping clear liquid on the floor. Liam coughed again and moved away, down another vine and web choked passage.
He entered another large chamber. Light streamed in from cracks in the ceiling. A throne of silver and gold sat on a raised dais, a mummified form slumped in the seat. A massive statue of an ape, much like the one from the graven images, loomed behind the throne, the top of it shrouded in darkness. The room reeked of animal musk and decayed vegetation, but also with an undercurrent of spice. Cinnamon, perhaps? Liam could not quite place it. He stepped cautiously down worn stone steps and approached the throne. Bones lay scattered across the chamber. More passages branched off the central chamber. Liam moved closer, the torchlight gleamed off the jewels set on the mummy’s head, the diadem he had been sent for.
As he reached for the diadem, a tremendous roar echoed through the chambers. Liam leapt aside just as a massive figure crashed through the space he had occupied. Its great gray hairy back bristled. It turned to face Liam, slapping a massive fist against its chest, and baring long cruel fangs. Deep-set eyes glared with a knowing malice as it circled around Liam. Liam felt small in comparison, barely coming to the ape’s chest even when it was on all fours. A human skull hung from a braided cord around the great ape’s neck. Clearly some far descendant of the apes the previous inhabitants had once worshipped, and yet still made these ruins its home. For Liam’s part, he held the small knife and the torch and wished he had taken the saber instead.
The ape rushed forward, swinging its massive arms in sweeping arcs. Liam danced back, the monster’s fists only just missing his head. He thrust the blazing end of the torch at the ape, and it backed off with a roar. Liam tried to think of some spell, some incantation as he backpedaled furiously, keeping the torch between himself and the ape.
The ape lunged forward and snapped at Liam with his teeth, and he thrust the torch into its face. The creature let out a pained bellow that shook rocks loose from the ceiling, A massive arm caught Liam in the side and sent him sprawling. He rolled to his feet, only just avoiding being crushed by a powerful overhand blow. Liam had lost the torch, could see it still burning behind the ape, but he had no way to retrieve it. His foe moved more cautiously now, pacing back and forth. Liam clutched the small blade in his right hand, looking for some sort of opening.
Then the ape was upon him, barreling straight ahead. Liam tried to dodge to the side, but the ape had anticipated the move and grabbed him around the waist and pulled him in. Liam had his left arm pinned between his body and the ape, but his right arm was still free. With a wild yell, he stabbed the blade at the ape’s face. He struck with blind desperation as he strained against the iron vise grip of the ape. The beast’s howls turned from rage to pain and it dropped Liam suddenly and backed away, blood streaming from its face. It flailed its arms, and Liam staggered back out of the way. His chest ached and the simple act of breathing wracked his body with pain. He was sure at least one rib had cracked.
The ape, its eyes now a red ruin and stab wounds covering its face, retreated back into the shadows. Liam stepped forward and seized the diadem with his left hand.
Visions assaulted him. Dark skinned warriors slammed spears and shields together in a salute before kings and queens garbed in cloth of gold. Hooded priests offered bound prisoners to apes that dwarfed the one Liam had fought, their great maws dripping blood and viscera as they feasted. Great waves washed up over the island, destroying harbors and cities. Warriors and priests clashed in the streets. The sacrifices ceased, and the great apes turned on their supplicants until naught was left but wrack and ruin.
Liam dropped the diadem to the floor, and the visions ceased. As he watched, dumbfounded, a ghostly apparition rose from the mummified corpse. It was a woman, clad as the mummy was, but her clothes were intact and not torn to tatters. A ghostly reflection of the diadem glittered in her long, ebon hair.
“You are not of my people,” the ghost said with a voice as quiet as the grave. She ran cold fingers along Liam’s cheek.
“Your people are dead and gone, oh Queen,” Liam replied. It hurt to talk, it hurt to breathe, but he would be damned if his knees would buckle to some long dead nobility. His people did not kneel.
“Why are you here? Why do you disturb my resting place?” the queen asked.
“I was sent by one that claims descent from your lineage. She seeks your diadem as proof, or because she thinks it contains some shard of your power.”
“Does she?” The ghost laughed with a sound like chimes in a gentle breeze. “And what is to be your reward?”
Liam laughed, a dark and bitter sound. “My life was forfeit if I didn’t. I am sure she plans to slay me when she has what she wants. If I don’t return, she will send more men until she has it.”
The ghost stared hard with her eyes the color of an underground lake into Liam’s ice-colored eyes. “And do you want to live?”
“What kind of question is that? Yes.”
“Then give me a kiss, mortal man, and give this trinket to the would-be queen.”
Liam closed his eyes. He felt a cold mist brush against his lips, felt his soul fill with want and longing and a sudden painful grief. He opened his eyes to find himself alone in the chamber. The mummy still sat on the throne. The diadem hung from his fingers.
He stumbled back through the palace in something of a haze, his feet avoiding the traps and obstacles only by chance… or perhaps some unseen figure guided his steps. Blinking against the daylight, he emerged from the passage. Mehdi started at his appearance, his hand going to his blade before he saw the diadem. His whole body relaxed then, the tension flowing out of him.
“Lady Anahit is waiting,” Mehdi said.
Liam nodded, emerging from the dream haze with a shake of his head. “Of course, she is.”
Anahit leapt from her divan at Liam’s approach, her eyes fixed on the diadem.
“Give it to me!” Her fingers closed around it, tore it from Liam’s unresisting fingers.
“Finally,” she said, setting her jeweled headpiece on top of her head.
Liam thought briefly of warning her, but as soon as it occurred to him to speak, it was too late. Anahit closed her kohled eyes, and when they reopened, they were the pitch black of the mummified queens. She stretched her arms out in front of her and shivered, her pink tongue running over painted lips.
“It has been an age… though this body… is this what my people have come to?” The spirit possessing Anahit gestured for Mehdi to approach. “Are you the captain of this woman’s guard?”
“My lady?” Mehdi furrowed his brown in confusion.
Anahit’s head tilted to one side, as if she was listening to some distant noise. “Ahh. You know me as Anahit, correct? That will do… for now.”
“Mistress?”
“Enough, we have what we came for.” She stared out into the bay. “We disembark, and quickly. I feel I have much to do.”
“What of this one?” Mehdi asked, grabbing Liam by the arm.
“What of him? He delivered what was asked of him. He will come with us and be rewarded. If he wants to remain part of my entourage, who am I to deny him?”
“But mistress, you said…”
“Are you questioning me?” The queen’s voice dropped to a whisper, and the death it promised was as sure as an adder’s sting.
“No,” Mehdi replied. The other guards looked to each other in some confusion, unsure of the change that had come across their leader, but too far in her thrall to question her.
“Good. Liam, you will join me in my quarters when we leave, won’t you?”
Liam nodded his assent, though he had to wonder if he was in more danger now than when he had first washed up on the beach.
©January 2024, Matthew X. Gomez
Matthew X. Gomez can be found at mxgomez.wordpress.com as well as on twitter @mxgomez78. He currently wrangles two kids, three cats, and a day time job and wonders how his wife puts up with him. He carves out time to write with a butcher’s knife. He is the author of the short fiction collection God in Black Iron and Other Stories and the novel PROJECT PROMETHEUS.