Peter Brett - The Core

Hasik laughed as Abban screamed. ‘I never tire of that sound, khaffit ! I want you to know what it means to wake in anguish every day.’

‘You …’ Abban coughed.

‘What was that, khaffit ?’ Hasik asked.

‘… didn’t …’ Abban laboured for breath, every word heavy on his tongue. ‘… even … let … me … offer … my … bribe.’

Hasik smiled. ‘Was it a good one?’

Abban nodded. ‘A … pleasure even the … Damaji fear to … indulge.’

Hasik stood, crossing his arms. ‘This I must hear.’

‘A dozen heasah ,’ Abban said. ‘Chosen because they look nearly identical to the Damajah, to pillow dance for you.’

Hasik grew red in the face, and Abban realized his mistake. ‘And what am I to do with heasah , without my cock?’

‘There are straps heasah sometimes wear, to simulate having a man’s spear,’ Abban said. ‘I did not lie when I said I could give you a cock of gold, smoother, larger, and stiffer than the real thing ever was.’

‘If I wanted to shame myself with such a harness, it would not be the Damajah I would wish to fuck.’ Hasik leered at him. ‘No, it would be you I make howl, khaffit. Louder even than your daughters and wives.’

He stuck the hammer back in his belt. ‘Now get back to making my feast.’

Everam, if I but had a drop of tunnel asp venom, Abban thought, but he knew it was a lie. Here, crippled deep in the green lands with Sharum deserters looting and pillaging, he would be a fool to poison Hasik. The powerful kai’Sharum was his only hope for survival until they reached Krasian lands or Abban’s network in the Hollow.

‘Better a bone at a time than a spear in the back, or a chin noose around my neck,’ he muttered.

And so he roasted the pig with utmost care, glazing the skin to a hard, delicious shell connected to the moist, hot meat by a melted layer of fat. He directed the women as well, teaching them to roll couscous and prepare dishes suited to Krasian palates. There was a Bajin pea dish that could be reasonably approximated with Northern corn, and Abban had them make it in plenty to honour Hasik’s new men.

Hasik was in good spirits throughout the day. Abban made sure the chin fasted as well, and the smells teased everyone at the farm. By sunset, even the Bajin seemed eager when they were called to the table.

The Sharum had taken a pair of Northern feasting tables and cut the legs short, laying them end-to-end. Hasik was already kneeling upon a bed of pillows at the table’s head when the others arrived. ‘Orman.’ He gestured to the single pillow to his right. The Bajin leader glared at him but wasn’t willing to challenge Hasik again. He knelt, eyes down. The other warriors followed suit, kneeling on the bare floor four to a side.

When the warriors settled, Hasik pointed to the foot of the table. ‘ Chin. ’

The three Angierian men kept their distance, circling out of reach until they knelt together at the foot of the table, tense with fear.

The Bajin scowled, and Orman spoke up. ‘We are to sup with chin ?’

Hasik’s hand was a blur, gripping the warrior’s beard and pulling hard, smashing his face into the table. He roared and struggled, but Hasik kept the thick hair in his fist, holding him prone until he calmed.

‘Perhaps you thought kneeling at my right gives you leave to question me.’ Hasik said. ‘Do you still succour such foolish thoughts?’

Orman shook his head slowly. ‘No.’

‘No?’ Hasik asked.

‘No, master,’ Orman said.

Hasik grunted, letting go his beard and acting as if nothing had happened. ‘ Sharum sit.’

The warriors shifted from kneeling to sitting with military skill. How many hours had they spent drilling it in sharaj ? The chin stayed on their knees as Abban had instructed, setting them apart. The Bajin seemed mollified at this.

No place for me, Abban noted, pleased to be relegated to the kitchen, invisible. He sent the women back and forth, filling the table with steaming platters that held the attention of the hungry men. They inhaled deeply, tasting with their noses as mouths began to water.

At last they wheeled the animal out, still dripping on the spit. The melting fat pooled in a tray beneath the succulent beast.

‘Prepare your bellies for a wonder you have never dreamed of,’ Abban said, smiling at the looks the men cast the pig. Even mighty Sharum could be ensorcelled by the scent of pork. His own belly groaned and grumbled, desperate to partake.

‘Come and sit behind me at my left while I taste this wonder, khaffit ,’ Hasik said.

‘The kai honours me,’ Abban said.

‘Nonsense,’ Hasik said. ‘I merely wish to ensure you continue your fast. You are too fat, Abban. You will see it is for your own good.’

Abban was so hungry he would have sacrificed another bone for a taste of pork, but it was pointless to argue. Orman, Hasik would settle for humiliating. If Abban questioned him in front of the men, Hasik would have no choice but to kill him.

Or worse, Abban thought. He took a deep breath. For now, he was worth less than a warrior, but once Hasik tasted the pig, Abban knew his value would soar.

Still Hasik did not give permission to eat. He clasped his hands and closed his eyes. The others at the table immediately did likewise.

‘Blessed Everam,’ Hasik said, ‘He who honours the strong. We thank you for the feast before us. It may be against your law to sup on the flesh of pigs, but you have shown me your laws are for the weak.’

He paused. ‘I was weak, once. Driven by pleasures of the flesh even when they brought pain and misfortune upon me again and again. I made the weakest part of me my ruler.’ He straightened. ‘Now that part of me is severed, and I am free at last. Free to see the world around me without weakness. I see for the first time the grains in the dunes, and know I am stronger for it.’

He looked at the Bajin. ‘No doubt you would all put a spear in me given the chance, but you will see now how you, too, are free. How we have become strong.’

He looked to Orman. ‘Are there other Sharum in the area?’

Orman nodded. ‘A dozen Khanjin have taken a farm down the road.’

‘You and your men will soon have a chance to visit your shame on your night brothers.’ Hasik smiled. ‘You will find nothing eases your torment like sharing it.’

The Bajin remained grim-faced, but Abban could see the words stoked a new hunger in their eyes. Hasik was not wrong.

Hasik looked at the chin , switching to their language. ‘Everam smiles on you, chin. In the new order, even you may claim honour. The choice is yours. You can be slaves, or you can learn to fight and join us.’

The younger men froze, turning to look at their patriarch. He hesitated, but only for a moment. He bowed as Abban taught him, placing his hands on the floor and touching his forehead between them.

‘We will fight.’

‘Then let us seal it with a feast!’ Hasik called. He lifted the haunch Abban had carved him, and the skin crackled as he bit into it and tore away a mouthful of flesh. His eyes widened, and then it was chaos as the men tore into the food.

Abban watched in pain as they stuffed themselves, but he kept his mask in place, giving Hasik a look pathetic enough to satisfy him as he mocked the starving khaffit with his glistening fingers and lips.

There was Northern ale, and it flowed freely as they ate. Soon the Bajin were laughing, and even the chin seemed to relax. When the plates had been emptied and filled and emptied again, they began to slow, eating more for pleasure than hunger. Hasik lounged back on his bed of pillows as they sang warrior songs.