Alisiyad Chapter 28 ~ Daughter of the Sun God (Part 2)

A sudden commotion drew their attention — both he and Alisiya turned to look as a pair of Ricallyn women struggled up the stairs, carrying a thrashing child with them.  Russ recognized her instantly: the younger bird-girl.  She screamed at her captors in a high-pitched torrent of Adayzjian, and Russ didn’t have to understand the language to know the meaning.  The women, in their shapeless gray robes, looked a little harried as they limped across the roof, the girl kicking their shins as hard as she could with her bare feet.  She was still dressed in the tattered rags Russ had first seen her and her sister in, but her thin black hair was even more tangled and wild from her struggles.

“What are they bringing her here for?” he asked, though it was hardly necessary . . . the women were dragging the child toward the stone altar and the meaning was only too clear.

But Alisiya answered him anyway, putting words to his fears, “The Ricallyn put a great store by human blood.  Different bloodlines have different uses.  The girl is an Osviran Erykumyn . . . I suspect they find something useful about her blood for this particular ritual.”

She spoke matter-of-factly, as if the girl were a vegetable for a stew.

“I do not yet know all the Ricallyn’s secrets, of course, as you pointed out so astutely.”  A smile crooked one side of her pale mouth.  “In all my mother’s writings about them she left many gaps because she was not one of them to know all their beliefs and methods.”

The girl put up a good fight, but for all her cursing and kicking, she was so much younger and smaller than her spiteful sister that Russ couldn’t help being distressed.  She was only a baby . . . maybe 5 or 6 years old . . . a spitfire but deeply terrified, anyone could see that through the brave front.

“Tell them to stop,” he said, reaching for the knife anxiously.

“Tell them?” Alisiya laughed.  “They are not going to listen to me anymore, you stupid boy.  This whole ritual, this summoning, is to determine if I am who I claim to be . . . thanks to your stunt which put doubt in their minds.  I can hardly tell them to stop it.”

“Well then I’m gonna.”  Russ yanked the knife out of his belt.

Alisiya arched one thin black eyebrow.  “They only left you that knife because it hardly does you any good against the whole throng of them,” she scoffed.  “You only took their priest by surprise.”

Russ ignored her, striding forward, his heart thudding, toward the altar where the women were struggling to tie the girl down.  Several Ricallyn guards moved in front of him and lifted their long swords, barking at him to halt.  Russ halted, but barked back, “Let her go!”

“You idiot,” Alisiya sneered from behind him.  “What are you going to do, fight them all for a snot nosed little brat?”

“Tell them,” Russ responded slowly, “that’s exactly what I’m gonna do and if they don’t want to have to cut me up here and waste my precious ‘Key-blood,’ they’ll do what I want.  It’s nothing to them unless they do it right, right?  That’s the point of this, isn’t it?  They have to kill me in their ritual, or I’m no good to them . . . they’d be fucking it up for themselves if they kill me now.  Ask ’em if they want that.”

Alisiya laughed derisively, but recounted his threats to the surly Ricallyn.  “They say,” she resumed after one of the swordmen had shot back an answer, “that you underestimate their ability to subdue you without killing you, which is foolish of you after they have managed it so effectively up to this point.  That fellow with the sore neck, in particular, wishes you to remember the needle they gave you in the cell.”

Russ stood silently for a moment, seething at the truth facing him.  He couldn’t fight them all, he’d been lucky to defeat one, and if he tried now he’d just lose the little bit of freedom and self control he had.  “I’m not gonna just stand here and watch them butcher up a little girl,” he said through gritted teeth.

“If you have an ounce of intelligence you will,” Alisiya said, and he could hear the mocking smile in her voice.  “You will come back and stand next to me like a good prisoner and observe the summoning patiently.”

Russ stared at the guards, who each stared back at him implacably, their swords at the ready.  These were the men who had led him to the temple in chains, thrown him in the pit, and then fought him back out again to deliver to the mystics who tried to cut him up.  The followers of Ricalli were creepy, but these men were far more dangerous.  Maybe they didn’t even give a shit about the rituals of the priests and priestesses, but that didn’t matter, they’d make sure Russ didn’t get away or disrupt the summoning.

It seemed everyone on the roof was holding their breath.  The swordsmen waited for Russ’s next move: he imagined them cutting him down and then stanching up his wounds quickly before too much blood spilled on the bricks where it was useless to them.  Then one would jab him with a sedative and he’d lie there useless while the girl screamed in terror and pain, and . . . .

Russ took a step back, slowly.  He did not take his eyes off the swordsmen as he drew closer to Alisiya.  She put a hand on his arm and spoke a word of assurance to the Ricallyn, telling them he’d give them no more trouble, no doubt.  Russ shook her hand away and gave her a long, disgusted glare.

“If you think that bothers me you are quite mistaken,” she said.  “You’re a fool.”

Russ didn’t reply, but turned away from her and closed his eyes.  This was no time for self doubt, and he couldn’t let himself believe anything Alisiya said.  The Ricallyn women had tied the little girl to the altar and stepped away — there were no metal clamps on the rooftop altar, only one post with a rope knotted around it securely.  The girl was bound up with the rope, her wrists tied together with her arms drawn back behind her head.  Her legs were left free, though it did her little good.  Still, the rooftop set up was considerably less convenient for the Ricallyn than the one inside the temple, all the better for Russ to hope the girl could take advantage of what he was trying to do for her.

No, not try, he corrected himself.  It wasn’t enough to wish the knots to unravel, it would be self-defeating to wonder if he could make the rope come undone like a clamp or a lock, he couldn’t for a moment allow himself to worry that it might not be possible.  He’d learned a thing or two when his delirium had freed him.  He couldn’t think — he had believe in the reality before it was real.  There was no trying, there was no doing, there was no making it happen consciously.

There was only believing that reality was already what he wanted it to be.

So he closed his eyes and saw — instead of the girl helplessly bound to the pole by a rope stronger and thicker than her little arms — the rope sliding from its knots like a snake uncoiling.  The snake was happy to unwind and slither away, the rope was happy to unravel its bindings and slip to the floor.  It did it quickly, willingly, before anyone could jump forward to grab the girl again.

What she did next was up to her, she was a human with a will too strong for him to control, but he hoped she would take her opportunity to leap from the altar and run, run as fast as her spindly legs would carry her, move as fast as she could to avoid the reaching hands of the robed Ricallyn and the menacing swords of the guardsmen.

He opened his eyes when he heard the shocked exclamations around him.  He was shocked himself when he saw that it had mysteriously gone dark — the image he’d conjured up in his minds’ eye included the bright afternoon sun and so for a moment it confused him to open his eyes to a much darker world.  It was as if night had fallen in an instant, leaving the unprepared people on the roof in shadow.

He only had a moment to think about it, though, because a small figure darted through the darkness toward him and he reached out to grab her before she could pass.  He knew she was trying to run away toward the stairs, but she’d never get away completely, there were too many Ricallyn everywhere.  He knew for a fact that darkness didn’t deter them, they seemed very at home in it, thanks to their drugs.  She screamed when he got a hand on her, and thrashed as he wrapped an arm around her waist, picking her up.

“Shh!” he clamped a hand over her mouth and tried to ignore the bony knee she dug into his stomach, the screaming pain that shot through the wounds on his arms and chest.  “Hold still, I’m only trying to help you!”

She screamed muffled words behind his hand, no doubt calling him an idiot and the usual.  Alisiya had disappeared — she was no longer standing next to him.  The Ricallyn, instead of rushing to make sure their Key didn’t get away as he’d half expected, had all fallen to the roof in subservient poses.  All of them, the robed men and women and the threatening guards, were face down.  Maybe he was an idiot not to have bolted given the chance . . . Alisiya sure had.

Russ wasn’t the only figure still standing, though.  It was not too dark for him to see, still empowered by the Ricallyn drugs, and beside the prostrate forms of the Ricallyn he saw a man standing in front of the altar.  How had the little girl gotten around him?  Russ squinted — even with his sharpened vision he could really only make out the silhouette, but it was a tall and imposing silhouette . . . which cast a shadow, impossibly, in the darkness.  The shadow grew, slowly reaching out over the Ricallyn, dark as pitch, and obscured them completely from Russ’s view.

He backpedaled as the shadow inched toward him and the girl, who had gone stiff with fear.  It was no longer necessary to hold a hand over her mouth — she was as silent as the grave and was suddenly clinging to him like a vine.  His arms ached, but he didn’t put her down; he doubted he could unwrap her arms from his neck, anyway.

Russ stumbled over a Ricallyn and stopped, looking down at his feet.  It was too dark to see where he was going now, and there was danger of backing right off the edge of the roof if he kept going.  The man’s shadow covered everything now, and it made him cold and scared despite thinking he’d already been through the scariest things he could imagine.

“Rise, my children,” the man said in a deep voice, and Russ was shocked that he could understand.  He knew in the back of his mind that the man was not speaking English, but the meaning of his words translated themselves clearly.  Just like when Russ had spoken to the Gate . . . .

The Ricallyn rose to their knees obediently, and the shadow withdrew from them slowly.  Russ could see around himself again, as the man gathered the shadow back to himself, like it was a net he’d cast out.

What, Russ wondered anxiously, did he catch?