John Fultz - Seven Kings

The breath fled from Tong’s lungs as he stared up at the God of Beasts. It rose like a colossal viper from the waves, its flesh as pale as the skin of the eyeless ones. Its body was as thick as one of the cavern’s stone columns, lined with gleaming scales. It had no arms or legs, but two great gills spread behind its triangular head like transparent bat wings. Unlike its worshippers, it stared ahead with a pair of bulging oval eyes, scintillant with shifting colors. Its open mouth was full of fangs, with two incisors dominating the upper jaw, two more on the lower. A pair of convulsing nostrils mimicked the snouts of the eyeless ones, and its red, pointed tongue was akin to theirs, though many times longer and thicker. The massive head reared dripping above Tong, mystical eyes shedding their own subtle light upon him.

It might have swallowed him whole, so great was its size. Yet it only swirled and coiled about him, hissing softly to rival the sounds of the rushing water. Tong stood stiff and terrified in its presence. He closed his eyes again, ready to feel the sting of those great fangs as they impaled his body. Yet the pain never came. The beast glided about him and slithered up onto the beach. There it slithered among the eyeless worshippers, who bowed and sang to it. They came forward to caress its chromatic scales and lick the translucent slime from its back. Tong watched the culmination of the rite and recognized it as a ceremony of adoration. The great White Serpent flowed among its people and licked at them, but it did not crush, rend, or bite. The red-robed ones kneeled before it and began a new melody.

Childhood tales of Serpents and the Ancient World danced in the back of Tong’s memory. Such beasts once ruled the world, breathing fire that scorched the northlands to ash. The Gods had sent Giants to battle the monsters. He had never truly believed such stories until this great Serpent reared before him. Yet there was no fire in this beast’s gullet, or surely the waters would have quenched it. Neither did it have dozens of clawed legs like the mythical Serpents. Yet what else could it be?

For the first time in many years, Tong thought of old Trissus, who used to tell his fellow slaves outlandish tales and legends by the light of the evening fires. He had taught Tong everything he knew about the world beyond the fields, until the day he was whipped to death for some offense against an Overseer. Such deaths were common among Tong’s people. He had only been a boy when Trissus died, but the old man’s stories lingered in the fields long after his death. They were retold by his sons, his brothers, and his cousins, who taught others to tell them in turn. Legends, unlike Men, never seemed to die.

The Serpent’s body was as long as a Khyrein tower was tall. In the gentle atmosphere of its presence Tong realized that he would not die today. He fell to his knees in the cold water. He should drown himself now, while the eyeless ones worshipped their scaly God.

The utter strangeness of his situation was broken by the even stranger sound of a human voice. It spoke his native tongue.

“Welcome to Sydathus, Tong of Khyrei.”

Tong raised his face from the black water. An old man stood before him on the shore. No, it was a man whose true age was unknowable. He stood ankle-deep in the foam, wearing an orange-red robe of finely stitched silk. His hair was long and silvery gray, his short beard and mustache that same color. A thin band of gold sat upon his high forehead, and a dancing blue flame on a silver chain burned upon his chest. His skin was brown in the sun-kissed manner of a trader from the eastern or northern lands. No matter how long Khyreins spent under the hot sun, their pale flesh never darkened. So this man was definitely not one of Tong’s countrymen. The jewels upon his fingers glowed less brightly than his eyes. He had the eyes of the White Serpent: a shifting blend of scarlet, emerald, violet, azure, and pearl. They gleamed and sparkled with an alert calm. He smiled at Tong with perfectly white teeth and offered his hand.

The Serpent was gone. The horde of beastlings stood tranquil about them, even the children holding still in the presence of the one who had come. The one who spoke now with the voice of a Man. Tong accepted his hand and met his curious gaze.

“Who are you?” Tong asked. “What are you?”

The ageless man grinned. “I am a Man, like you,” he said. “And so much more… also like you.”

He led Tong from the beach, back toward the great city-column. The eyeless ones walked about them, sniffing and prancing. The priests formed a broad ring about the two Men as they moved. The scents of roasting vegetables filled the cave air as they approached the settlement.

“How do you know me?” asked Tong.

“I know many things,” said the ageless one, “and have forgotten many more. Such are the perils of old age.”

“What is this place?”

“I told you,” said the stranger. He lifted his arms to indicate the stupendous network of cave dwellings carved into the monolith. “This is Sydathus, one of the world’s oldest cities.”

The priests led the two men up a flight of stairs between the city-column and the beach, where a crudely carved stone chair sat overlooking the black ocean. A smattering of crystals gleamed along the seat’s back and arms. The eyeless ones gathered about the rough throne and the ageless stranger sat himself in the chair with a sigh. He turned his prismatic eyes upon Tong once again.

“I apologize that there is no chair for you upon this dais,” he said. “Please… sit.” He motioned to the stone platform, which was covered by a mass of reed carpets.

Tong could think of nothing else to do, so he sat before the chair, crossing his legs. He groaned a little at the slight pain in his side.

“Are you healing well?” asked the stranger.

Tong nodded. “Well enough.”

“The Sydathians are quite skilled at medicine. You would have lain helpless much longer if not for their good care. Are you hungry?”

Tong shook his head. The stranger smiled. “So they have fed you well. Once you accept their uncommon appearance, their benevolent nature becomes plain.”

Tong rubbed his face with hands still wet from the freshwater sea.

“Please… ” he said. ”I don’t understand any of this. Why must you torment me so?”

The stranger gave him a quizzical look, his eyebrows knotting. “Torment?” he repeated Tong’s word. “I’ve saved your life. Or rather… they did.”

“But why? Tell me why.”

The stranger raised his head and took a long breath. He nodded, as if recognizing some forgotten need, or remembering some lost detail.

“Forgive me,” he said. “Your confusion must be great. I have been remiss.”

Tong waited. The silent Sydathians about the throne mirrored his calm.

“You were a slave,” said the stranger. “But you are free now. A free man. Your life is your own.”

Tong leaped to his feet. “I do not want it,” he said. The eyeless ones moved uneasily as his voice echoed about the cavern and was lost in the darkness. He clenched his fists at his sides.

“You only long for death because you have not tasted life,” said the stranger.

“I have!” said Tong. “I have tasted it enough to know its sweetness. And now she is gone.”

The stranger nodded. “A great loss. You have known agony and pain and a lifetime of suffering. Yet these things are behind you now. Believe me-”

“Who are you?” shouted Tong. Anger boiled in his blood now, making his scars throb, his head ache.

“Men call me Iardu,” said the stranger. “And other names. Yet Iardu will do.”

Tong looked at the Sydathians basking in the glory of this Man who was also Serpent.