David Gemmell - Echoes of the Great Song

Instead she stood in the doorway, head bowed, hands clenched tight beneath the red shawl wrapped around her slender shoulders, hoping that the racking cough she had endured for the last three months would not ruin what chance she had of placating this man of evil.

Her father had chosen her for this distasteful mission because she had been married for two years. He felt his widow daughter would find the violation easier to accept. How simple men are, she thought. How little do they understand the nature of such violation.

Yet she had not criticized him. At twenty-two Sofarita could read the faces of men, and she saw in Bekar a terrible fear, and a great longing. He had been made headman and this, he believed, would bring wealth and security to his family. Yet it all rested on the charms of his daughter.

Sofarita thought him short-sighted. There would be no wealth, and precious little security for the headman of Pacepta. They were too close to the borders of the Erek-jhip-zhonad, and soon other raiders would come, followed by settlers who would either kill the villagers or force them from the land. The Avatars would be wiped out. Everyone knew that. The sure knowledge of it whispered in the movement of the wind-rustled corn. It could be heard in the fluttering of a sparrow's wing. But great damage could still be done to the Vagars in the death throes of the Avatar Beast.

The Avatar Beast…

She raised her eyes and looked at the man. His face was handsome, his yellow hair close-cropped at the front and sides, long at the back. At the temples the hair was dyed sky blue. He smiled and beckoned her forward. It was a gracious smile, full of warmth and friendship. But then, thought Sofarita, if evil wore an ugly face no-one would yearn for it.

Tell me about yourself,' he said. The voice was light, but yet still manly. It was the voice of a bard or a singer. She looked into his pale grey eyes, seeking sign of the cold killer she knew him to be. There was nothing to be seen. The horror lay below the skin, behind the eyes.

'I am a widow, lord,' she said, averting her dark gaze from him.

'And that is your life story? How drab. Did your husband teach you to be a good lover before he died?'

Anger flared in her, but she suppressed it, though her cheeks burned red. Suddenly she coughed, the spasms rocking her. Bile and blood entered her mouth but she swallowed them down.

'Have I offended your Vagar sensibilities?' he asked her. 'If so I apologize. Now close the door and show me your body.'

As she did so she considered his question. Had Veris made her a good lover? Did a woman need a man to show her how to make love? But then, she reasoned, he does not mean what he says. To a man a good lover was someone who offered them the most pleasure. Veris had not made her a good lover, he had been a good lover.

Something she believed this Avatar would never understand. Sofarita pushed shut the door, then turned and let her shawl fall to the floor. Beneath it she was wearing a simple dress of white wool, laced at the front with silver ribbon. She began to untie the lace. The Avatar rose, moving smoothly to stand before her. His nimble fingers took her hands and drew them away from the ribbon. Then he untied the dress, slipped it over her shoulders and allowed it to fall to the dirt floor.

His right hand slid over her belly. 'You have borne no children,' he said. 'How long were you married?'

'Three months.'

'Follow me,' he said, and walked through to the back of the house and into the main bedroom. The bed was of carved wood, the mattress laid over wooden slats. He dragged back the blankets and knelt by the bed. For one insane moment Sofarita thought he was praying. Then he rose. 'No bugs that I can see,' he told her. Swinging towards her he suddenly slapped her face. It was not a hard blow, but it stung.

'Why do you strike me?' she asked him.

'For your impertinence,' he told her, with a bright smile. 'The correct answer was "Three months, lord." How did your husband die?'

Her face was hot from the slap. 'He was gored by a bull, lord.'

'How sad. Now get into bed.' Sofarita did so, averting her eyes as he removed his clothing.

His lovemaking was assured and surprisingly gentle, and Sofarita did her best to make him believe that she was enjoying the experience. When at last he rolled clear of her she even reached out to stroke his cheek. His fingers snaked out and grabbed her wrist. 'There is no need for further play-acting,' he said, still amiable. 'You did well. The tension is gone from me.'

'I am glad I pleased you, lord,' she said.

'No, you are not. You are glad that your father will not suffer.'

Rising from the bed he dressed swiftly and walked back to the outer room. Sofarita lay for a while in her parents' bed, then she followed him. Lifting her dress from the floor she shook the dust from it and put it on.

'Shall I leave, lord?' she asked.

'No, sit with me for a while.' She joined him at the table and he poured her a goblet of wine which she sipped dutifully. She felt the cough rising again, and took another sip of wine. 'Did you know that you are dying?' he asked her, his voice bright, almost cheerful.

The words shook her. 'You are going to kill me?' she asked.

Leaning forward he slapped her again. 'How many times must you be told? Are you so stupid that a simple instruction, a small courtesy, is beyond you?'

'I am sorry, lord. Your words frightened me. Are you going to kill me, lord?'

'No, I am not going to kill you. You have a cancer in your chest. It has already covered one lung. How long have you been bringing up blood?'

'Some weeks now, lord.' Deep down she had known the truth but had not faced it. Now she was forced to.

Her energy had been low now for months, and weight had been dropping from her despite the meals she consumed. She took a breath, seeking calm. It was a shallow breath, but all she could manage these days. Then he spoke again.

'Well, a man should always pay for his pleasures,' he said, rising to tower over her. From a pouch at his belt he took a green crystal which he held to her breast. Pain pierced her and she cried out. 'Sit still,' he said. A feeling of warmth entered her belly, rising into her chest. It seemed to focus on the right side of her body, seeping deeper. Sofarita felt dizzy, but the Avatar's left hand dropped to her shoulder, steadying her. At last the warmth subsided.

'Take a deep breath,' he said.

She did so, and to her delight her lungs filled with air.

'You are healed,' he told her. 'Now you may go.'

'You have given me life, lord,' she whispered.

'Yes, yes. And next time I see you I may take it away. Now go and tell your father I am well pleased. Tell him also to bring out Shalik's body so that I may see it before I leave.'

Sadau, the potter, had no desire whatever to deliver the head of the king's brother. He had seen the bodies of those who had angered Ammon — bodies impaled outside the royal palace. Sadau had no wish to be impaled. As he rode to the first bridge across the Luan he halted his pony and gazed around. No-one was in sight. With one heave he sent the head spinning out into the rushing water. It sank like a stone.

Relieved, he rode across the bridge and made his slow way home. All might have been well — save for his cousin Oris. Sadau made the mistake of telling him what had occurred. Naturally he swore him to secrecy.

Unfortunately Oris told his wife, swearing her to secrecy also. By the end of the day every member of the village knew — though they were all sworn to secrecy. The last person to hear was the sergeant of the watch, who reported the tale to his captain.

Four of the king's soldiers, dressed in red robes edged with gold thread and carrying long swords and wicker shields, arrived at Sadau's home at dawn the following morning and the little potter was dragged from his bed and hauled to the palace.