I ducked beneath the window. The bright lights within had seared my eyes, and I could see nothing of the benighted garden without for a long moment. I held out an arm, blinking to clear the colorful spots from my vision as I groped for my harpoon with the other hand.
“Who’s there?” I whispered.
A human shape resolved out of the gloom, tall and slender and dressed all in black. An angular face at last came into view, and along with it, a sharp, too-wide smile reflected the light from the window. The skin of his face was a pale brown, almost like sand, and from his hood emerged a handful of shining black curls.
I had seen this man before. “You!” I cried, remembering at the last second to keep my voice down. “Who are you? What do you want?” Now that I could see, I freed my harpoon from its sling and held it between myself and the stranger.
“They can’t hear you,” he said. Though the voice emanated from him, his mouth did not move, maintaining its viper’s grin. “I thought I’d give us a moment to speak, while the good people of Svilsara are finishing their performance.”
I got to my feet and took a tentative step away from the window. My eyes grew accustomed again to the dark, but the stranger remained shadowed and almost formless, his black robe woven from strands of night. I feared he would vanish if I took my eyes away.
Or, I thought, he might turn into a snake. “What is it you intend, stranger?” I asked. “Have you followed me here from the sea of dust?”
He only continued to smile.
“I’ll warn you once,” I said. “This city may be an illusion, but my harpoon is not, and neither is the arm that wields it.”
“It’s been some time since I’ve met someone who could appreciate my handiwork,” the stranger said. He spread his arms, his voluminous sleeves trailing shadows, indicating the garden or perhaps the whole city. “What do you think?”
I took another step closer, taking my weapon in both hands. “This is your doing?”
“All of it,” he said, still grinning, his eyes two tiny points of light in liquid blackness.
“Then unhand these people,” I said. “They suffer and starve without knowing it. They cannot even seek better conditions because of your trickery.”
He folded his arms into his sleeves, shadows undulating around him. “No, I don’t think I will. I’ve maintained this paradise in the desert for a hundred years. You entertain me, little warrior, and so I’ve let you live. I may change my mind if you try my patience.”
Now, despite the darkness that closed around me like an enveloping cloak, things were becoming clear. No mortal sorcerer could conjure an illusion this large, one that fooled even touch and taste, and perpetuate it for even an hour. “You’re a god,” I said. “A greedy, blood-hungry god, unworthy of the worship you receive. It’s of no matter to me. I’ve fought gods before.”
The stranger clapped his hands in delight. “Ah, you flatter me, little warrior. Alas, the gods of the desert are set in their ways, and they refuse to see me as one of their number. But I do not mind. I have my city, and that is all I need.”
“I can see why they’ve made their decision,” I said. “A true god would provide for his people. You only trick them into thinking they have what they need.”
“Oh, but they do,” he replied, and this time his lips moved, as though he had just recalled that it was a normal part of speaking. The fallen gods of Phyreios had possessed faces like masks, metallic and glittering. This god made a token effort to appear human, though his presence still unnerved me. He was too tall and thin, his smile stretching almost to his ears and containing too many teeth. “They live out their lives in peace and happiness. Some die sooner, yes, but they are honored to do it, and their short lives are even more blessed. They need neither work nor fight, and yet the city is safe from invaders and there is food on their tables and rich clothing on their backs. What more does one need?”
In the temple, Fenin and the priests continued to sing. Their chant was low and steady, and the beat of the drum was like the pulsing of an enormous, slow heart. Had they called him up, I wondered, or had their wicked god appeared of his own accord? Surely his time would be better spent answering their call, rather than arguing with me in the illusory garden.
Until I could devise some plan to release the city from his hold and escape with my life, I would do my best to keep him here. “These people are starving and dressed in rags,” I said. “They are sick, and no deception can keep away the cold night or restore their bodies.”
He shrugged, a languid unfurling of his arms that caused the shadows around him to whirl and eddy like water. “You may be right. I doubt the good people of Svilsara would agree, though. Would you like to go in and ask them?” His teeth glinted like knives in the firelight. “Offer them the choice—to continue as they are, or to starve in the desert with no one to protect them. I think you know as well as I do what their answer will be.”
Unbidden, my teeth clenched, sending a sharp pain into my ears. “Dispel the illusion, first,” I said, “then they may make their choice as free people.”
“Free, like you?” he asked.
I frowned, unsure of what he meant. “Yes. I go where I choose. I speak to whom I choose. If a place no longer suits me, then I can leave it. Your magic denies them this.”
“But you, little warrior, are a slave to your belly, to the whims of the wind and the weather, and to whatever other fleshly urges that might strike you. Again, I ask you to present the choice to these people. See what they say.”
“Cease your magic, and I’ll do it,” I said.
“Enough,” the stranger declared. “I tire of this banter. If I were you, I’d return to the garden house before the priests find you here.”
With that, he disappeared, folding himself up in layers of black fabric until nothing was left but a wisp of smoke that faded into the surrounding darkness in an instant. I glanced around, but he was gone. The garden was as I expected it to be, its false greenery a deep gray-blue in the starlight.
A flash of light erupted from the window behind me, and the chanting ceased. I turned, shielding my eyes with one hand. Fenin’s ritual had ended. When the light dimmed, the temple was dark.
I considered doing as the stranger had said and returning to the house in the garden, where I was told to await the elders’ judgment. Never mind that, I decided—I would meet that judgment face to face, with a weapon in my hand. I hoped I would not have to harm the people of Svilsara, now that I knew they were innocent. They had only been deceived.
Fenin emerged from the temple first, carrying a lantern in both hands. A slight tremble in her arms suggested that it felt much heavier than it looked. Behind her came the elders, two by two, their backs straight and their hands folded over their long, white beards. Their attendants took up the rear, each with a silver candlestick. Golden light bathed the garden, turning the trees to emerald and reflecting in the tranquil pond.
It fell on me, as well, where I stood beside the paved path, and as one the procession turned to look at me. Fenin’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she said. “What are you doing?”
I wanted to tell her the truth, that I had met the god of Svilsara in this garden of his own making, and he had admitted that all the luxuries of this desert paradise were but shadows. He had been right; with the illusion still in place, she would think me mad.
“I went for a walk in the garden,” I said. Too late, I slung my harpoon back over my shoulder, feeling the eyes of the elders and their attendants on me. “I am a wanderer by nature. I never intended to go far.”
Fenin’s dubious look was fleeting. With her face still as a mask, she intoned, “The serpent has spoken.”
“The serpent has spoken,” echoed the elders.
I had little patience for ceremony, but I held my tongue. I would not raise a hand to Fenin, nor would I run into the desert without Bran and our supplies, so I could only observe.
“Eske of the North,” Fenin continued, “you are an outsider and an unbeliever. Your presence has angered the great serpent and risked his wrath against Svilsara. Because we are faithful, the serpent will not rescind his blessings if we obey his command. At first light, you will be taken to the sacrificial stone, where you will be devoured. Your blood will undo the harm you have done to us.”
Of course their god—the man and the serpent, I concluded, were one and the same, and neither was his true form—would not sully his hands by capturing me himself. He would use his followers, knowing that I was reluctant to do them harm, and demonstrating clearly what his argument had failed to do. His control of Svilsara was absolute. He had only to give the word, and the whole city would turn against me.
Perhaps I could still find a way out of this alive. I had in my possession a weapon that might be enough to challenge this god. In the desert, I would have no need to fear the innocent people of Svilsara coming to harm, and they could not stop me from doing battle with their mendacious patron.
“I will go,” I said. “Will you permit me to bring my horse and my possessions, as further offerings to the serpent? I have seen now that your city is the finest in all the world, and its peace must be preserved. Your serpent is wise in all ways. I am sorry for the trouble that I have caused you.”
The lie was bitter in my mouth. I bowed my head, trying to put on the image of contrition. I could not imagine Fenin, who had never once listened to or trusted anything I had to say in the singular long day of our acquaintance, accepting it.
To my surprise, she gave a sharp nod, lifted her lantern up by an inch, and said, “Very well. All these things will be offered to the serpent, and he will be pleased.”
That is how the next morning, I found myself tethered to the stone where I had found Fenin, with Bran tied beside me and the remainders of our supplies in a pile just out of reach. The sun, searing white, climbed over the horizon and set the sea of dust alight with a blinding glare. I closed my eyes and waited for the serpent.
Back to Chapter XXXIV: The Garden House
Forward to Chapter XXXVI: The Sacrificial Stone
The villain reveals himself! Eske has cleverly arranged to meet him in a place where the people of Svilsara won’t be in danger, but can he withstand this wily enemy in the desert? Find out next chapter! As always, thanks for reading!
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