Ann Leckie - Snake's Wife

"There are no snakes in the city of Therete," I whispered.

"I am no snake," it said, and blinked.

I wondered what would happen if I woke the servants. "What are you then?"

"A legless lizard."

"But still Vosei. Go away."

It reared its head. "So you are satisfied with your position?"

" You did this to me." It said nothing. "Men would be better off without gods."

"Without gods thousands would die in infancy, of sickness or accident. Doctors sew wounds and change dressings, but otherwise are helpless. Banish gods and thousands starve when harvests fail. You suffer so that others may survive. I do not rejoice at this; it is merely necessary."

"Necessary for who?" I asked, but it didn't answer. "This dispute between you and the Lord of the Sky. What is it about?"

The snake/lizard lowered its head onto my chest. "It was a question of water."

"Artau Ehat provides Therete with all its water."

"Yes," said the god. "Water has to come from somewhere."

"And he was taking it from Vos Inei." If Artau Ehat took what Therete needed every year, how much would Vos Inei have left?

"He gets his water elsewhere now," said the lizard. "You see? I have always sought the welfare of your people."

"Along with your own. Why are you here, now?"

"I require a service."

"There's nothing you could give me, to make me do anything for you."

"I can restore your manhood," the god said. "I can help you escape."

"I'd be a fool to believe you'd actually do it unless it suited your interests," I said.

"Perhaps it does," said the god. "I will visit again. Meanwhile, consider." With that, it slithered off the bed and was gone.

Three days later the king went hunting outside the walls of the city and was bitten by a snake. He was dead by nightfall. For the entire forty days of official mourning, the sky was as clear as it had always been.

The morning of the coronation I was up well before the sun rose. My servants worked for hours and by the time I left my rooms I was loaded down with so much gold that I had to concentrate on each ponderous step. Atehatsqe was similarly decked. When he saw me he took my hand and smiled, but wanly.

"There isn't time to talk now." He raised my hand to his mouth and kissed it. "If we're lucky, perhaps tomorrow. If not…" he looked briefly at the sky. "Then not for several days. Are you ready?"

"I suppose." He let go of my hand, and we mounted horses caparisoned in silk and flowers and gold, and rode to the temple.

From the top of the pyramid the whole city was spread out below us. Square buildings of white, pink, yellow, and pale blue lined streets straight as an arrow flight. All had courtyards, and many had roof gardens, some of them withering for want of water. Beyond the walls on three sides a patchwork of fields and orchards stretched out for what seemed forever into the distance. On the fourth side was the harbor and a forest of masts and sails. People crowded the streets at the foot of the pyramid, heaving and swirling like the sea to the west, their voices a constant roar.

Atehatsqe couldn't enter the tower, so Varoshtej, in a plain undyed cloth, his dark hair shaved off, went in and shed blood in his stead. When he came out again he put a jeweled crown on Atehatsqe's head and a spear in his hand, and the crowd thundered. Then an endless line of nobles and soldiers filed past to swear their obedience to the new king. Varoshtej was foremost among them, but I noticed that unlike anyone else he never once glanced at the sky.

Events had delayed my ride, but the doctor was true to his word. Two weeks after the coronation I set out from the city of Therete, Atehatsqe riding at my side and Varoshtej at his. Hawking, apparently, wasn't among the many activities forbidden to the king's priest.

We camped a day's ride away from the city. I had my own tent this time, and my own servants to attend to me. The trousers I wore for riding felt strange on my legs, and under the endless sky I felt disconcertingly exposed. The tall grass was brown and sere and the sky cloudless and intensely blue, and beneath Atehatsqe's courtesies lay an undeniable tension. I wondered what news Varoshtej had brought him of the god's will.

We hunted all morning, and retired to the king's tent when the day grew hot. We might have been on the road from Vos Inei — the tent was furnished the same, down to Atehatsqe's armor and weapons on their stand. The only difference was Varoshtej, who made a third at the inlaid table, slicing fruit with a bronze knife and assiduously ignoring me.

"A good ride, a good morning," Atehatsqe said. "Did you enjoy it, my heart?" Varoshtej looked up, knife still in hand, but it was me the king was speaking to.

"Yes, my king, very much." It was only the truth.

"You didn't need to deal with the doctor. I wouldn't refuse you anything in my power. But I'm glad you did. I'm glad to see you so much better."

Varoshtej looked down again. I thought of Qes' bitter words weeks ago— Varoshtej loves himself —and was suddenly angry. "Tell me, King's Priest, what's the will of Artej Ehat? Surely you've asked him about the rains."

For the first time that day he looked directly at me, his expression hostile and contemptuous. "The queen will forgive me for keeping the king's counsel."

I tried to imagine Atehatsqe's mother receiving such a reply. I opened my mouth to speak, but Atehatsqe waved a hand. "My queen has a right to be concerned. The Lord of the Sky has said…" he reached under Varoshtej's knife for a slice of fruit."…that the king must be pious and have confidence in the god's goodwill towards Therete. The rains will come at the time appointed by the god."

"These were the god's exact words?" I looked directly at Varoshtej as I asked.

"Yes," Varoshtej answered, unblinking. Atehatsqe took another slice of fruit.

"It's not much of an answer, is it," I said. "What if the time appointed is years from now?"

"It isn't," said Varoshtej, curt and angry, and brought the knife down just as Atehatsqe put his hand in its way.

The king cried out and drew his hand back, but the damage was done, a long cut on the back of his hand. Varoshtej was frozen for a moment, appalled, and then he flung himself off his chair and prostrated himself. "My king! I beg you, forgive me!"

"It's nothing," said Atehatsqe, cradling his injured hand. "It's my fault for being careless. Get up!" But Varoshtej was inconsolable.

When the doctor had dressed the wound, Varoshtej left and I returned to my own tent. I sat down in my own chair, ordered a cup of wine and then sent my servants away.

It was a matter of minutes before the snake arrived. It slithered in through the front entrance as though it had been invited, all seven scaled feet of it. "I said I would speak to you again," it said.

"Tell me about your settlement with the Lord of the Sky." The snake reared its head, and hissed, but I continued as nonchalantly as I could manage. "I think Artau Ehat has grown tired of trying to rid the kings of Therete of the curse. The murder of the priests was the breaking point. It didn't help that you had deprived him of the woman who was to produce the curse-free heir. You meddled with my sister, the way Artau Ehat meddled with the unborn princes of Therete, to make her fit for the purpose."

"Perceptive, Son of Ysas," said the snake, lowering itself again.

"You want an end to your quarrel with the Lord of the Sky, but you also want vengeance on the kings who insulted you. The Lord of the Sky wants a king he can speak to directly. Pious and obedient as he is, Atehatsqe doesn't qualify. But Varoshtej does." The snake stared at me, unblinking. "And so you and Artau Ehat agree that Atehatsqe must die."