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FOURTEEN




The morning sun cast long shadows over the harbor as Surjan stood on the dock, surveying the ships that would carry the Neshili away from their homeland. The rain had let up, at least for now. The air was thick with tension and worry, and the murmur of anxious voices filled the air as the Neshili gathered around, waiting for guidance.

Surjan turned to the royal council, his expression serious. “We must inspect the ships thoroughly. We can’t afford any mistakes.”

One of the younger council members was wringing his hands, the worry easy to read from his expression. “Your Highness—”

“Please, just call me Surjan. Now isn’t the time for formality.”

“Sorry, your high—um, Surjan. I’m concerned over your friend’s vision. He spoke of a land to the west where we can continue gathering supplies as we travel south, but are we sure that land exists?”

“Your Highness, he has a point,” the portly genealogist Ammun interjected. “Despite his obvious error. We are seafarers, we know that there is land to the west of us, and indeed we can see it as a gray line on the horizon from the western shore of this island. But those lands are occupied by savage animals and fierce tribes, who will not welcome us. This is a very large risk.”

“I understand your concern.” Surjan patted the fellow’s shoulder. “But Marty’s visions have never been wrong. They are his gift from the gods, and it would be unwise to ignore them. Besides, we have no other choices. The water levels are rising and we cannot know how far they will rise. Our salvation lies elsewhere.” He motioned toward the boats. “Let’s go over the fleet and make sure the ships are in good order. Especially after the storm, it bears confirming.”

The council members nodded, and they split into groups, each tasked with examining different vessels.

Surjan walked down the muddy slope toward the farthest set of docks. He spotted Marty and François talking to each other and motioned in their direction. “Hey, you two, I’m about to inspect the lead ship. You guys want to help?”

Marty clapped François’s shoulder and turned to face Surjan with an amused expression. “I know next to nothing about boats, but I’ll tag along.”

The Frenchman nodded and said, “I used to do a fair bit of sailing in my youth. Not sure how much that experience will translate to these ships, but I’ll help as much as I can.”

Surjan motioned for them to follow as he trudged across the soggy terrain and pointed in the distance. “These are all pretty simple vessels. The one ahead is the largest and oldest of the fleet.”

“Whoa . . .” Marty stopped mid-stride as he stared at the largest of the boats. “I’ve seen this kind of construction before. It reminds me of Ra’s solar barque.”

François tilted his head and nodded. “I think you’re right. It’s strange, because the construction looks much like the ship that was uncovered with the pharaoh Khufu. It’s just the sail on it is fairly primitive and ragged, and the topside shelter has seen much better days.”

“Those high curving ends fore and aft also make the ship look vaguely Sumerian, don’t you think?”

Surjan stared at the ship and had no idea what either of them was talking about. To him the vessel looked like a long and thin version of a Viking ship, but with a crude boxlike shelter constructed on its deck to serve as a place for people and supplies to get shoved into.

“Well.” Marty motioned in the direction of the boat. “King Surjan, you lead the way.”

Surjan harrumphed at Marty’s use of the king appellation and approached the large boat. The scent of salt and weathered wood filled the air as others busily climbed on and off the deck, loading baskets of supplies onto the vessel.

They climbed aboard, their footsteps echoing on the wooden planks. Surjan ran his hand along the railing, feeling the rough texture of the sun-bleached wood. “Just keep your eyes peeled for anything that looks out of place or might be a seaworthiness issue.”

François walked up to the dual-masted setup, which had put a frown on the man’s face. He focused on the llama-skin sails and rigging, his keen eyes panning up and down the masts, pushing and pulling at random pieces he came across until he nodded. “These sails are horrible, but considering what we have to deal with, I think they’ll work fine. We’ll need to make sure we have material to patch or replace these sails or the rigging. The journey south will be long and arduous.”

Surjan’s mind raced with the enormity of the task ahead. They were leaving the only homeland these people ever knew. The place that had been their sanctuary for generations.

He saw worry etched into the expressions of the Neshili loading the ship, their fear of the unknown palpable.

Marty walked up to Surjan and asked in English, “Anything got you concerned?”

“Not about the ship, per se.” Surjan said. “It’s about the people. We need to reassure them that everything will be fine. They need to know we have a plan, that we will lead them to safety.”

Marty nodded. “You’re their king, that’s on you. I’ll take a second position as some kind of seer of visions. It’s going to probably infuriate the priests, so we’ll need to try not to ruffle their feathers too much. Remember, if things work out the way we hope, we’re going to leave these people behind. They need someone they can look to when things are uncertain.”

“Marty is right,” François noted as he walked up to them. “A succession plan is needed. That’s something we’ll have to work on.”

“They need a new homeland. Someplace that will survive the coming floods.” Surjan knew that this exodus wasn’t going to be easy. That queen of his had shown her cards. She wanted him and the rest of them dead and out of the way. The priesthood itself was highly suspect, and even though they were supposed to be somehow an independent authority to the king or queen, he had the distinct impression that they were under Halpa’s thumb.

François put his hand on Surjan’s shoulder and leaned in close. “My friend, you realize that wife of yours is probably going to need to be taken care of, right?”

Marty gave François a severe look and shook his head. “Guys, let’s focus on one thing at a time. Let’s get everyone in a position to move safely off the island, and we’ll worry about the rest—”

“Did you find out where Kareem was?” François asked.

Marty shook his head. “Lowanna’s out looking for him. She’ll find him.”

Surjan sighed as the image of Halpa’s pretty face bloomed in his mind’s eye. Their appearance had clearly ruined whatever it was she’d been planning, and François was right.

Something would have to be done about his so-called wife.


After climbing up from the underworld, where he’d nearly been crushed by falling rocks, Kareem barely managed to evade the guards as they took the rest of the team to the council chambers. His ability to avoid detection could no longer be written off as a coincidence. This was something new.

Was he invisible? He looked at his hands. He didn’t think so, but, somehow, he’d developed an innate ability to blend into shadows. Even when he wasn’t actively trying, people often overlooked his presence—it was as if something about him made their eyes skip over him. From his hidden perch on the second story outside the building, Kareem had managed to peer through an open wooden shutter into the council chambers. He saw everything that happened, including the stroke of lightning that beamed down from the clouds.

That was certainly the witch’s doing. Lowanna made Kareem nervous. She was quiet and dangerous in her own way. That might be something he’d have to deal with eventually, but now was not the time. His focus was on another self-appointed mission.

Kareem moved through the shadows of the palace with a singular purpose. His hands trembled with a mix of determination and anticipation. The queen and the high priest, Tudhal, were the architects of chaos, and their grip on the people had to be broken. His plan was simple but dangerous: he had to kill them both.

He also knew this wasn’t the kind of thing he could have asked permission to do. François might have said it was the right thing, but Marty and the others were too kindhearted—or maybe cowardly—to do what needed to be done. This was what Kareem was here for. His skills were honed and ready to be used.

Though he hadn’t necessarily anticipated needing this outcome to play out, he had watched and waited, studying their routines, giving him the data he needed for this act. The queen was generally surrounded by guards, a constant, impenetrable barrier. Tudhal was often by her side, their unholy alliance evident in their every move. But today, Kareem saw an opportunity. Tudhal was to undertake a solitary prayer in the inner sanctum of the temple, a rare moment when he would be alone.

The prayer along with the gods would almost certainly turn into cavorting with the queen.

Kareem slipped through the palace corridors, his sharpened ankh hidden beneath his tunic. He moved with the stealth of a predator, his senses heightened by the adrenaline coursing through his veins. The dim light of torches cast flickering shadows on the walls, but Kareem’s focus remained unbroken.

He reached the temple and paused in the shadows, his eyes fixed on the entrance to the inner sanctum. The heavy wooden doors stood slightly ajar, and Kareem could hear the faint murmurs of Tudhal’s prayer. He took a deep breath, steadying himself for what was to come.

With silent steps, he entered the temple, his eyes almost immediately adjusting to the dim light. The sanctum was a small, sacred space, filled with the scent of incense and the faint glow of glowing embers. Tudhal knelt before the altar, his back to Kareem, completely absorbed in his ritual.

Kareem approached slowly, his hand tightening around the ankh. Each step felt like an eternity, the distance between him and Tudhal closing with agonizing slowness. When he was finally close enough, he drew the ankh from his tunic and raised it high.

In one swift, fluid motion, Kareem plunged the sharpened ankh upward into the back of Tudhal’s skull, just at the base. The priest’s thin body went rigid, then collapsed, lifeless, to the floor. The prayer was abruptly cut off, replaced by the deafening silence of death.

A rush of euphoria washed over Kareem as he stood over Tudhal’s corpse. His vision sharpened, and his hearing became acutely sensitive, as if the act had awakened something within him. He felt more alive, more powerful than ever before. The years of pent-up anger and frustration seemed to melt away, replaced by a newfound clarity and strength.

Kareem quickly wiped the ankh clean and concealed it once more. He took a moment to steady his breathing when suddenly the door to the temple opened.

“Tudhal?”

It was the queen!

She was early.

Not having a chance to do anything with the body, Kareem slunk rapidly from his position, blending into the shadows as he slipped out of the sanctum.

With his senses tingling, Kareem rapidly navigated the temple corridors with ease.

He reached the trellis above the temple’s main hall and hid among the shadows, watching intently.

With his jaw clenched, Kareem felt a surge of fury course through him as the queen walked into the inner sanctum.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

He was going to kill the priest, hide his body, and lie in wait for the viperous woman.

It was only in this cloistered chamber that the two were ever alone.

Halpa moved with an air of authority, her eyes scanning the darkness of the inner sanctum. “Tudhal?” she called out, concern lacing her voice. “Are you all right after what happened earlier?”

Then a sharp, anguished cry echoed through the temple as the queen spotted Tudhal’s lifeless body.

She rushed over to the corpse, shrieking. Moments later, her guards rushed into the chamber behind her.

Kareem smiled as he witnessed the queen’s face contort with rage and fear, her control slipping in the face of this unexpected blow.

“Find who did this!” she screamed, her voice reverberating through the temple. “Find the murderer and bring him to me! He will pay with his life!”

The guards sprang into action, fanning out to search the temple grounds. The queen, her face a mask of fury, turned and stormed out of the sanctum, her guards trailing behind her like shadows.

Kareem watched as they disappeared from view, a frustrated grimace playing on his lips. The first part of his plan had been executed, but the opportunity to kill the queen had been spoiled by her early arrival. He felt a surge of frustration as he slipped from his hiding place, his senses keen and his resolve to finish what he’d started unshaken.





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Framed