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CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

The night was quiet. Marty peered up from the fields just below the Sethian outpost. With the crescent moon now hidden behind clouds, the canyon was shrouded in gloom. He could barely see the ground, much less the two mastabas behind the wall. He turned to Kareem and whispered, “On top of the mastaba on the right, there’s a watch tower. Is anyone patrolling, or maybe watching from the tower?”

Kareem craned his neck and frowned. “I see one on the tower.”

“A Sethian?” Marty stared up into the darkness and saw absolutely nothing on top of the fifty-foot escarpment.

“I think so.” Kareem gasped. “It’s wearing a hooded robe.”

“Wide horns, or tall ears?”

“I can’t tell.”

A Sethian. Marty doubted it was one of the cow-headed Hathiru. Either way, it didn’t matter. Getting up there without being spotted would be nearly impossible.

Somewhere in the darkness, he heard a low grunting noise. Before he could ask what it was, he heard Lowanna’s voice. “Marty, I’m approaching with a couple of friends. Don’t make any sudden moves.”

It took all of Marty’s self-control not to take a step back as a full-sized pig approached. “What the . . . ?” As she came closer, he spotted a few more shadows. She had brought an entire pack of wild boars, tusks and all, with her. “I thought you were going to be back on the other side of the creek with François.”

Lowanna stopped with her face less than a foot from his and whispered, “Change of plans. It turns out that the Sethians occasionally like to kill and butcher wild boars. This one”—she turned and patted a large boar’s head—“wants to know if we plan to kill the Sethians.”

Marty looked back and forth between his crewmate and the one-hundred-pound-plus animal with sharp tusks. “Sethians aren’t the only ones who eat pigs, you know.”

Lowanna shrugged. “When I hear the pigs are planning to attack our camp, I’ll let you know.”

Gunther whispered, “Twilight Zone, I’m telling you. We’re in an episode of The Twilight Zone.”

Marty shook his head. “Is that all they played in Germany when you were growing up?”

Gunther shrugged.

Marty took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he shifted his attention back to Lowanna. “Okay, Dr. Dolittle, of course we’re planning on killing them. The Sethians, I mean.”

Lowanna put her hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay. They want to help.”

“Help?” Marty stared at the creature as it scraped one of its tusks on the ground, digging a deep furrow. “What do I do with wild boars?”

“Keep the plan simple, for starters,” she suggested.

Marty considered. Boars were infantry, and melee fighters. You couldn’t really hide a mass of them. On the other hand, their first attack would likely be a complete surprise, and could be really demoralizing for the target.

“Can you tell them to spread out down here below the fortress?” he asked. “Then once we get those Sethians to come out, the boars can attack. Or, at the very least, distract them.”

“I can ask them,” she said. “I talk to animals. I don’t command them.”

“Brilliant.” Surjan piped in from somewhere behind him in the dark. “As long as we humans are focused on the battle and ignore the oinking.”

Marty scanned the rest of the crew. “Remember your ankhs. That seems to be the most effective weapon against the Sethians. There’s a set of steps going up the outpost gate. I’d expect these things to come rushing down it. Kareem, Surjan, and I will approach the base on either side of the stairs. Lowanna, we don’t know how well our targets can see in the dark, but assume they’re eagle-eyed like Kareem is, so stay out of sight and do whatever it is you need to with these friends of yours. Gunther, you go back to François and tell him to count to a slow thirty before setting off the light show. We should all be in position by then. Any questions or concerns?”

“What if they stay up there?” Surjan asked. “What’s the contingency plan?”

Marty turned to Kareem. “How are you at climbing?”

“Very good.”

“If they don’t come down, we’ll have to go up and get them,” Marty said. “Kareem and I will climb the walls on either side. Let Kareem or me start a commotion up there before you try anything else. Make sense?”

Surjan nodded.

Kareem grinned, his crooked teeth glowing in the darkness. “I like this plan, by God.”

“Good.” Marty took a deep breath.


Marty heard the sound of a cricket to the east and knew Surjan was in position. He turned in the direction he thought François was and waited.

Somewhere in the darkness, he heard a grunt. Then another in a completely different direction. Lowanna was moving boars into position.

A bright red beam of light speared upward. Marty’s heart raced as he listened for the sound of any Sethian response.

There was a scraping sound high overhead.

No footsteps.

The light from the beam had its origin in the darkness across the canyon, opposite the fortress. It shot straight up into a cloud, illuminating it with a surreal reddish tinge that cast weird shadows across the ground, and Marty saw moving boar silhouettes trotting in various directions.

He pressed himself against the rocks at the base of the outpost, not sure what to expect, and waited.

Thwack!

A ball of fiery light flew from the fortress in the direction of François’s red beam.

Several seconds before impact, the beam blinked off.

Thwack! A second fiery ball was launched from the outpost.

The first projectile crashed into the ground, splashing fire in all directions. Marty shuddered.

Marty grabbed the rough rocks that formed the base of the outpost and scrambled up.

Another thwack! and a third projectile.

Killed. Burned to death. All Marty could think of was how he might have just gotten more members of the crew killed as the glow of fire cast dancing shadows on all the canyon’s walls.

He was past the rocks and gripping the sandstone slabs that made up the middle portion of the outpost. He was almost thirty feet aboveground, and rushing upward, when he missed a foothold and fell.

He caught himself on a rock with one hand and dangled.

Focusing on one task and only one task, he swung himself around, caught the edge of the sandstone with his other hand, and then got his feet back under him.

More slowly, forcing himself not to worry about François and Gunther, he finished the climb. As he finally reached the top and reached over the wall, he heard a howl of pain.


With his toes firmly planted in the seams of the outpost’s wall, Kareem peered up and spotted a Sethian scampering down from the watch tower. Stairs wound around the outside of the tower, he could now see, and more stairs took the Sethian down the side of the mastaba.

Could he really do as he had been asked, could he do as he planned? He was a runner of errands, a motorcycle messenger, a lifter of crates, and a digger of holes. In lean times, and with many prayers for forgiveness, he might even be a picker of pockets.

But a warrior?

With his ankh secured in his belt, he climbed up to the top of the wall. François’s red beam of light turned off. The Sethian that had climbed down from the watchtower was less than ten feet away. He was below Kareem, and he looked to his left; he stared up at the cloud that had suddenly gone dark.

This was exactly such a devil as had murdered his uncle. Abdullah had approached the demon in peace and the demon had murdered him with no remorse and with no hesitation.

Now Kareem would kill the devil with no remorse, too. He took the ankh into his hands.

He was no errand boy.

Kareem crouched on the top of the wall. He felt his heartbeat in his thighs as he gathered himself, the ankh gripped tightly for a downward strike.

He would see Abdullah’s family again. If not here, then in the world to come, where he would see Abdullah, as well. And he would not be ashamed to hold his head up in the presence of his uncle’s family, by God.

The Sethian looked away, toward another demon, this one at the center of the fortress’s enclosure. Kareem jumped.

Kareem slammed the sharpened tip of the ankh down into the point where the Sethian’s neck and shoulder joined.

The creature let out an earth-shaking bellow of pain and spun around to face Kareem.

But Kareem had expected the monster to react. He remained gripped onto the ankh as his legs were flung outward due to centrifugal force. The force of the motion caused the ankh to slice across the side of the creature’s neck, spraying a fountain of blood in all directions.

The demon fell to one knee and Kareem landed on his feet. Other devils would come; he must act fast. He raked the razor’s edge of the ankh deeper into the Sethian’s neck and then danced back, barely avoiding a swipe from the wounded creature.

As the monstrosity collapsed to all fours, Kareem pulled his ankh-dagger from its shoulder and shoved it into the base of its skull. The snap of bone shattering echoed in the air. He jumped clear as the Sethian’s body convulsed.

“For my uncle!”

Kareem spat on the monster. His body tingled and his throat tightened.

It was his first kill of any kind.

It felt good.

He wanted to do it again.

He was a warrior.

Then he saw light beginning to gather on the Sethian’s corpse.


Across the outpost, Marty saw Kareem on top of a writhing Sethian, his ankh buried deep into the creature’s back.

Carrying a ceramic pot filled with writhing flames, a second Sethian rushed toward his fallen comrade. Marty heard the scraping of hooves on stone.

A compact figure launched itself from the shadow of the fortress gate and slammed into the Sethian, sending the creature and its fiery possession flying back.

The pot crashed to the ground, spewing flaming liquid in an infernal cone.

Marty felt the heat despite the distance. The boar squealed and raced briefly in circles before zooming out of sight, back down the stairs.

The Sethian screamed and thrashed. Liquid fire covered him from his head down to his waist.

Surjan rushed up the stairs and then backed away from the flames. The Sethian lurched to its feet and staggered toward him. He moved back, ankh held before him, to defend Kareem. The burning Sethian fell to its knees and finally toppled forward and lay still.

Marty smelled oil and charred flesh.

Outside the fortress, he heard squeals and more grunting.

Marty rushed past the conflagration just as Kareem hopped off the still body of the Sethian. Kareem stepped away from the corpse, which promptly began to dissolve.

Despite being covered in gore, the young man had a huge smile on his face.

Marty felt a twinge of guilt; he was putting the young man’s life at risk, and leading him to commit extreme acts of violence.

But he didn’t think he really had much choice.

And was the violence, after all, extreme? Or were Marty and Kareem both acting in defense of the human race?

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Kareem wiped the gore from the ankh on the Sethian’s kilt and cape and shot him a thumbs-up.

“Marty!” Surjan called.

Marty turned and saw Surjan, his ankh held up before him, facing off with a dozen of the large cow-headed people now emerging from their mastaba. Marty raced past the flames and the smoking corpse with his own ankh at the ready. “Hold up! Doath—is one of you Doath?”

One of the taller cow-headed people with very widely set horns stepped forward. “I am Doath. Do you remember me? You are the man who climbed the wall. We do not wish to fight. We are watching.”

“Watching?” Surjan growled.

“This is their home, too,” Marty reminded him. “I remember you,” he said to the Ikeyu.

“Marty!” Kareem yelled from the other side of the flames. “Look at the beam.”

Marty looked at the place in the eastern sky where Kareem was pointing and saw nothing.

He turned to the cow-people. “Are there any other Ametsu here? We killed four tonight. Two here and two on the prairie.”

Doath dipped his horns from side to side, a bit like an Indian head bobble, but slower. “There are two others. They are traveling.”

One of those two was likely the first Ametsu they had killed.

But that left one.

“Damn it!” Marty raced toward the stairs. “Surjan, check on François and the others! Kareem, I didn’t see that beam! Can you—”

“I’ll lead you!” The short young man hopped over the edge of the fire and raced through the gate.


Marty, Surjan, and Kareem spent an hour hunting for the fifth Sethian. Kareem found recent tracks heading eastward along the muddy sections of the creek, but none of them had managed to spot the Sethian, and the tracks eventually disappeared on a broad shelf of stone.

Kareem seemed increasingly fidgety and agitated during the search.

The crew had come out of the encounter unscathed, and had even gained a few baskets of dried beans from the outpost’s stash. One of the boars had gotten burned, but Gunther gave it first aid.

No repetition of the glowing Gunther-hands incident.

As Marty relaxed beside the stream, Lowanna sat down beside him. “You did great.”

Marty snorted. “I didn’t lay a finger on anything. It was one of your pig friends and Kareem who did it all.”

“You were the leader.” Her voice was soft.

Marty shrugged. “Stop arguing.”

The sun rose during their journey back to Ahuskay village. Marty felt tired, but triumphant, and his crew walked with heads held high and steps crisp. It was early morning when Marty and the rest of the team arrived.

Zegiga and Badis met them at the edge of the village. “The Ametsu?” Zegiga asked. “They’re dead?”

Lowanna nodded. “Your children are safe.”

Zegiga let out ululations of joy. Badis nodded, catching Marty’s gaze with a look of grim satisfaction.

Others emerged from their tents and Marty caught sight of the Tribespeaker. He approached the crew with a pleased expression. “So, it is done?”

Marty was careful not to shrug. “We killed two more Ametsu. We believe that all the Ametsu who live in that fortress are dead, save one.”

“Then we are not completely safe,” the Tribespeaker said.

“The survivor fled eastward,” Marty said. “We also travel to the east. We shall try to find that survivor.”

“There must be more Ametsu in the east,” the Tribespeaker mused.

“Can mankind ever be safe, as long as such creatures walk the Earth?” Marty asked.

The Tribespeaker looped his arm over Marty’s shoulder and motioned for the crew to follow. “Come. You all need rest. Tonight, we shall feast.”


François walked with Kareem, away from the others. “You seem upset, young man. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Kareem spoke very quietly. “Perhaps I have lost my soul.”

“Your soul?” His eyebrows rose. “How so?”

“Killing is forbidden—”

Murder is forbidden,” François said. “You have not committed murder.”

“I stabbed a man in the back.”

“A man?”

Kareem hesitated.

“Not a man,” François said. “A monster. A beast. Yes?”

“Yes.” Kareem nodded slowly at first, and then eagerly.

“Worse than a beast, a demon. A demon such as the one that came here and tried to murder the tribe’s children. A demon such as the one that murdered your uncle, my friend Abdullah. You killed a demon, and you killed it in defense of human life. Had you not killed it, it would certainly have harmed you or others in our crew. Or villagers. Agree?”

“Yes, but . . .” Kareem’s voice took on a panicked tone. “I felt good doing it. That makes me wicked.”

François smiled and draped his arm over Kareem’s shoulder. “Kareem, it does not make you a bad person to be pleased that you’re helping those who need help. Everyone has a role in life. Some are scholars and their goodness is embodied in their teaching of others. Others are carpenters who make sturdy homes of high quality so that they can be safely sheltered from the sun and the weather. Some people are warriors. You, my friend, are only just now learning your role. It isn’t me who will determine your role: follow your skills, do what you’re good at, and improve such things through hard work. And the test you can give yourself is a simple one: Is what you’re about to do a benefit to a greater number than your not having done it?” He smiled and Kareem smiled back. “You protected Ahuskay. There’s no need for guilt. And of course, if you have doubts, I’m always here to talk to.”

“My uncle got me this cursed job—I mean, this job. I only have this job because of my uncle. And with him gone . . .”

François stopped and looked Kareem in the eyes. “You’re not wrong to think that your position was gained because of the good word of your uncle.” He tapped his index finger on Kareem’s chest. “But it was you who earned the right to stay on the team. And with the way Dr. Cohen described how you dispatched that giant creature, I’d say you’ve doubly earned your place.”

He managed not to laugh as he spoke. Did the young man imagine that François was going to fire him?

Kareem looked up at François and grinned. “The demon I killed was pretty big.”

François turned Kareem around and they headed back toward the village. “Let’s go back before they come looking for us. There may be young women who are anxious to express their gratitude to you. That’s one of the occupational risks of being a hero.”

François ruffled the young man’s hair and grinned. Sometimes he regretted not having a child of his own.


Marty’s mouth watered.

On a circular woven mat about ten feet across was a steaming mound of what looked like grains of whole wheat, and a variety of roughly chopped root vegetables. One of the villagers poured a sloshing mound of meat and thickened juices onto the grains. The chunks of fatty meat were roughly chopped into fist-sized portions.

On the other side of the mat, he spotted Lowanna struggling to keep a nauseated expression from her face. He managed not to laugh—she did, after all, look funny. Meeting her gaze, he jerked his head to suggest to her that she leave.

She nodded, took a deep breath, and excused herself.

The Tribespeaker sat next to Marty. He ripped a large chunk of flatbread in half, handing Marty the other half. With a practiced hand, the leader of the village took a smaller piece of the bread, leaned forward and scooped up some of the wheat and a jiggly piece of roasted fat. He turned to Marty and motioned with the food in his hand. “Please, Seer. Enjoy. This is for you and your people.”

Marty emulated the Tribespeaker, scooping up what might have been a chunk of potato along with the wheat.

The elder motioned for Marty to eat and he popped the food in his mouth. His eyes widened with surprise as he bit down on the vegetable and it immediately squished into mush. It was an eggplant; Marty loved eggplant.

The Tribespeaker leaned close. “Good?”

Marty nodded as he chewed on the rubbery wheat grains and smiled.

The Tribespeaker popped the fatty morsel into his mouth and motioned for everyone to eat.

“What kind of meat it this?” François asked. “Did you sear it . . . roast it at all first, or just put it into the pot?”

Everyone else dug into the food as Marty went in for another helping. This time he tore off a stringy morsel of meat and popped it into his mouth. It was tender and had a gamey taste to it that reminded him of wild goat or maybe an old sheep. There was no seasoning that he could discern, yet it was the best-tasting thing he’d had since starting this crazy adventure fifteen days earlier.

The Tribespeaker motioned to a group of about ten villagers standing several paces away and turned to Marty. “We are all grateful for your ridding us of the Ametsu, Seer.” He motioned to the villagers. “These are members of my tribe who want to help you in your travels.”

Marty stared wide-eyed as seven smiling men and three women approached and seated themselves among his crew, joining in the feast. He knew all their faces, but the only one whose name he knew was Badis.

“I don’t understand,” Marty said.

The Tribespeaker grunted. “For a seer, sometimes your vision is quite dim. My people are grateful, and wish to speed you on your travels.”

“Thank you,” Marty said. “I think we can defend ourselves.”

“There is one Ametsu left to kill,” the Tribespeaker said. “At least. Any Ametsu who may live in the east must be discouraged from coming here for vengeance.”

The Godspeaker spoke. “Also, we believe that we must tell the tale of this victory far and wide.”

“To . . . enhance the fame of Ahuskay Village?” Marty suggested.

“To inspire other men to take up the fight,” the Tribespeaker said. “If all men fight, then the Ametsu of the east will not see Ahuskay as a lone rebel to be suppressed. And if all men fight, the Ametsu cannot win.”

Badis’s eyes gleamed in the firelight. “We do not wish you to have all the fun.”

Marty’s first instinct was to decline the offer; what would he do with ten warriors, ten more mouths to feed? But the villagers all smiled and their young faces reminded him of undergraduate students.

Marty glanced across the mound of food at François, who nodded. He turned to the Tribespeaker and returned his smile. “That’s a very kind offer.”

“The Tribe has spoken. The Seer’s host has grown by ten.”

The Godspeaker leaned over Marty’s shoulder to whisper. “Don’t worry, they will be well-equipped.”

“And we have one more gift for you.” The Tribespeaker raised a hand and beckoned.

Zegiga approached, holding a folded cloth. Bowing, she opened it, revealing a long strip with loops at one end. The cloth was undyed linen, but neatly stained into its upper center were two circles, side by side.

“A banner,” Marty murmured.

François laughed and clapped. “The symbol is perfect!”

Two circles? How were two circles perfect?

Not two circles.

The banner showed the infinity symbol of the Ametsu, broken in half. Marty chuckled. “It is a fit banner for those who would march to war against the liver-eaters,” he agreed.

One of the women in the group had sat next to Surjan. She was tall and muscular, with a high forehead and wide-set eyes. Now she looked up at the big man. “I have seen you . . . you are the warrior. I am Tafsut, and I will fight beside you.”

Surjan furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head. “You can’t be serious.” He glanced over at Marty and then shifted his gaze back at the woman, who was probably in her early twenties.

The woman’s nostrils flared and she boldly returned Surjan’s scowling gaze. “Do you want a contest of spears to prove I am worthy?”

“Contest of spears . . .” Surjan’s scowl was overtaken by a beet-red blush. “Oh, bollocks.”

The woman smiled and patted his arm. “I will not hurt you.” She reached down to a tray filled with flatbread, grabbed one of the pita-like items, ripped it in half, and handed a piece to Surjan. “We have a long trip. Eat, you will need your strength.”

Marty probably turned purple as he tried not to laugh. But as he watched all of the new members of the extended crew eat and attempt some amount of small talk with the others, he worried about what lay ahead.

There were thirty-nine days left before his vision came to an end. And in the end, hopefully was a return back to civilization, though he had no idea how. But if he was taking these people away from the village that he presumed they were born in, what about them? Things had suddenly become more complicated.

There was likely at least one Sethian out there or more that wanted them dead. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at the thought.

It was pointless to worry about the end of the trail, especially since Marty knew there were dangers lurking out there . . . and with a larger group, they were now a larger target.


As the feasting broke up for the evening, Marty saw Kareem slinking off into the trees with a young woman. Surjan’s new acquaintance Tafsut led him in a different direction. François sat at a smaller fire with three women, telling them some story that provoked repeated gales of laughter.

“Good,” Gunther said, appearing at his shoulder. “Let people unwind.” The German sipped something fruity-smelling from a skin.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Marty said. “What about you?”

“In this day and age?” Gunther laughed softly. “No, I don’t think so. No need to call attention to myself. I’ll unwind with a little wine and a good night’s sleep.”

“That sounds good,” Marty agreed.

“Does that sound good to . . . Lowanna?” Gunther asked.

“What? Ah . . . Lowanna is great, I just . . . that would be very awkward.”

“Would it?” Gunther drank a little more wine. “None of my business.”

The German wandered away into the night.


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