Book of Sadu, Chapter I: Forged in Fire
Three.
Iron struck iron. Sparks flew and the clang of metal rang out in the dark, sweltering shed.
Three moons.
He struck harder with his iron hammer, anger forging the glowing metal. It resembled a child’s toy in his massive, cracked hands. The metal cowered at his ire, bending to his strength and will. He kept going, kept hammering, striking harder the more he harked on the time. It dredged up the blurred memories of his mother being snatched away from him as he screamed and wept. The more he struck, the more the metal obeyed his force, until it could no longer. The small blade of the throwing mambele fell into the golden sand at his feet, hissing and belching as it bled into the floor.
“Fuck,” He threw the two-pronged knife into a vertical support beam, cutting halfway through it.
A woman rushed in, “What the fuck is going on Sadu?!” One of her eyes twitched. The other bulged at the sight of molten metal dripping away. “In two suns, that man eh be back here!” She winced.
He dropped the hammer in his hand and went for a bucket of water, ignoring the screaming woman that owned this shed, and him. He walked slowly towards her. She stepped back, inching closer to the door. Sadu snatched the searing metal lodged in the support beam and pulled it free. The knife sizzled in his hand, but his flesh stayed intact. He dunked the knife into the bucket and tossed it on the floor. Behind him was a pile of iron ore, to which he grabbed a fistful and tossed into the smelter.
She looked around, “Where is de—“
Sadu walked to his work bench and carefully pulled a rag off the bench, “Here it is, Hektet.” The blade was long, and unusually straight.
Hektet looked it over, and a smile fought its way onto her sandy, wrinkled face, “Very nice, as always.” She placed her hand along his broad shoulders and traced along his hardened back. Her fingers found their way to his hips, then his ass, “Very, very nice Iron Master.” Hektet wasn’t done. She reached around and gently caressed his scrotum.
Sadu tensed up. He looked up at the ceiling made of driftwood, and the little bit of palm wood his mistress could afford. He remembered when it caved in two years ago from wood rot. That was before they moved the smithy indoors to hide all the attention he was getting from travelers and locals.
Leave them on.
People loved to stare at the seven foot tall man who looked big enough to push a mountain. There had even been those propositioning to purchase him for their gallery of oddities. Sadu had hoped one of them would name a high enough price for Hektet to let him go early.
Don’t—Don’t put it there.
He was able to speak to a few of them before Hektet caught on and hid him from the public. They said he could be their man of strength and might, and even get paid for it too. They traveled north, south, and west. He even heard a rumor that they had traveled east before. Anything that could get him closer to the place his mother called “home” was better than this.
Stop doing that.
“Hektet, you have customers,” A young man called from outside.
“Hurry up!” Hektet gestured to Sadu as she stood up and put her dress back on.
Sadu put on the trousers that had been taken off. He wiped the tears from his eyes, and the secretions from his body.
“Hektet! You have—” The young man marched in.
“I heard you Ahken, gah dammit!” Hektet adjusted her clothes and rushed out. “And-and don’t be wastin’ all my iron, Sadu!” She left before he could respond, slowed only by the thick leather that surrounded the tent. He never said anything anyway.
Ahken looked the man over. “Sadu-” Suddenly he was snatched out of the tent.
Three moons.
Sadu turned the molten liquid.
*****
Sadu was a legend in the kingdoms and villages along the Mantu trade route. He crafted superbly strong and durable weapons, usually made of iron. He had two more suns to recreate the mambele he had broken, a feat that would take even the most masterful blacksmith three days. Sadu wasn’t a trained blacksmith at all but his skill dwarfed all other craftsmen, and even time. What took them days took him mere hours to perfect, fitting for a man called the ‘Iron Master’.
As the newly crafted mambele cooled in the tent, Sadu set out to purchase the precious stones for the straight sword hilt. The man who requested the blades was not from here, and marveled at the craftsmanship Sadu put into his weaponry. Sadu hadn’t spoken to the man directly but from what he could see in between the tent poles of Hektet’s quarters, the man was strange.
When the man’s horse whinnied outside the blacksmith tent, Sadu peered out and saw a man covered in a white cloak and lightly armored. The man rushed inside Hektet’s quarters, and Sadu followed. He removed his hood. His face was pale and pink like the palms of hands, and blue-green veins pulsed along his neck. His arms were red, as if burned. His hair danced like fire. Never in his life had Sadu seen anyone lighter than sand. Never had he seen a man who hid his skin from the glories of the sun. Sadu could tell he was wealthy, as evident by the adornments on his alabaster horse and the luster of his armor.
The sun would enter the underworld in less than a half’s day and Sadu had to be back by nightfall, as the Codes of Chains demanded. Sadu opened the bulky antelope skin tent as if it were papyrus paper. The bustle of the Sebeth district rang in his ears, and the searing sun bowed his head. The districts in Batapnu were all alike this time of day. The heat, amplified by the crowds and the assault of the sun, grew reckless in the still air of the area. There was no relief from the blazing heat, but Sadu was numb to disappointment.
He passed red tapestries draped over stone and metal frames where dealings of passion occurred under daylight. Anything from potions to instill love in another’s heart, herbs to boost one’s virility, or curses bound with blood and malice were sought after under these scarlet cloaks. Since the occupation, these businesses could only sell their remedies of the blood. Passion was not The Way.
Sadu continued down the main road and headed in the direction of the Bata pyramids, the shimmering marvel to the north. The paths danced with the scents of frankincense and myrrh, wafting into his nostrils as he stomped by. His nose dragged his head to a sea-blue tent tucked away behind the others. He resisted the pull of the uncanny fragrances, charmed to draw in those still devout to the old gods. There was once a high need for amulets, protections, and fertility spells, but the occupiers condemned idols that were false in her eyes. He fiddled with the iron bracelets dangling on his wrists. Though the oxidizing metal was pure, the bracelets remained polished and smooth with no effort on his part.
“As sky is to earth, and dawn is to dusk, she is true,” A wrinkled woman in rose and cerulean robes stepped out of a lush green tent sewn with thistle and purple-thorned lotuses. The sand-skinned elder was followed by a younger woman dressed in the same robes. Their heads were shaved clean to their scalp and they wore no kohl or malachite powders. Sadu pulled down his sleeves and covered his wrists as they came in his direction.
“Only the best herbalists could keep up a garden tent this well in the arid desert,” the younger woman commented as she brushed against the flowers.“His sacrilege was damning, the way he questioned our purging,” she gripped a misshapen sack in her hand.
“Not everyone is willing to let go of their immoral lives. They knew no better before we blessed this kingdom with our divine light,” the woman retorted without a break in her rigid face. She looked upon Sadu as they passed one another. She drew her hands up to the sky, down to the earth, towards the start of the sun, and pausing towards its end. Sadu nodded his head and continued to walk.
“How dare he!” the younger woman shouted, her emotions heightening further.
Sadu stopped walking. His wide back stood against the women.
“It is disrespectful to pass an elder disciple without reciprocating The Sign of The Way. Turn at once and repent,” she protested.
He turned and gave them the Sign. Up then down, right to left. He walked away with haste. The buzz of metal stung his ear, and a four-pointed star slowed in his periphery. He observed the intricate rose engraving around the edges of the silver stars as they spun by. The exquisite craft of the weapons called for him to catch one between his fingers. Sadu flipped it around in the light of the sun. The stems and petals were made of small-print scripture from the Book of The Way.
‘Let your light shine upon the world, and immolate those who follow the crooked path’. Sadu scoffed. He felt the cold, hard metal cool his sweaty palms. Sadu shaped the tough steel like moist clay within his hands. He wanted to throw the crumpled projectile back at the woman. Three. Three months, he thought. Without hesitation he turned and dropped to his knees. He bent his head and raised his palms towards the zealots.
“Good choice, boy,” the elder woman said.
The younger woman trembled as she walked over to Sadu. Her hand extended out towards him, “My-my star,” she said. Though he was kneeling to the floor, their eyes were near level. Sadu dropped the crumpled metal into her hand. She backed away slowly without taking her eyes off of Sadu, “He is…unnatural. His strength…”
The elder woman turned to walk away, “Brute strength crumbles to dust in time, but the strength of the Lord will be the foundation of eternity.”
Sadu kept his head down until their footsteps bled into the cacophony of the road. He dusted himself off, and spit a curse on the ground they once stood before continuing his trek.
It wasn’t long before a golden tent peeked through the open spaces among the sea of colorful fabrics. As with anything of value in the world, gold tents were difficult to find and couldn’t be found in the same place for long. Thieves plotted on them without rest, but a heist couldn’t happen if the mark couldn’t be located. It was no surprise that rogues were drawn to the tents. They were covered in jewels that shone like harbor beacons, and the fabric was sewn with gold as luminous as the sun.
The criers once sang of the old gods within feet of one another. This was before the new belief swept through the kingdom. It was said that jewels and precious metals were the remnants of the gods departing this plane, raining down from the sky as great boulders as they rose into aether. If it weren’t for those stories, they would be no more than pretty rocks and shiny sand. Sadu wondered if the new belief would make this story their own, like they had others. Or had the jewels and metals become gods in their own right?
Inside the gilded tent, the air bit with a cold he had never felt. It gave his lungs relief and subdued the scald from the blazing heat outside. Sadu crossed his arms as best he could. It was a strange feeling for him, being cold. His tattered shirt and soiled trunks didn’t help in the slightest.
“Strange feeling isn’t it?” A woman’s voice drifted through the frigid air.
Sadu looked around the room. It was dimly lit, but large pieces of ruby-encrusted masks, fine jewelry, and luxury ornamentation gleamed all around. The shop was cluttered with beautiful statues and artful pieces that transformed it into a secret treasure trove. As he surveyed the artifacts, his skin itched and rings of green embellished his forearms. In the back of the shop, a platform of glittering metal topped with plush pillows drew his eye. A man sat atop the mound, enveloped in coral, violet, and royal blue furs.
“Did you just say…I need jewels,” Sadu was here for business.
The man relinquished the furs, sitting up with his feet dangling off the platform. He spoke but it sounded like the same voice he heard when he first entered, “Of course you do. We all want the finer things in life, but we can’t have everything. You must be more specific.”
Sadu scanned the man’s body. He saw baggy pants gilded in gold just like the tent, and a vest which covered almost nothing. The only thing on his torso were silver wraps bound tightly around his chest. His body was built sturdily and was well defined.
The small fruit of his throat rose and fell as he swallowed, “I warn you, and anyone else who seeks to take from me. Death is quick and merciless.” His voice deepened harshly. He rested his hand under the pillows, eyeing Sadu.
The cold that once brought relief now felt like death to Sadu. “I am not here to take anything. I am only here to buy. I need jewels to finish a job.”
The man relaxed, but his hand did not move. Sadu reached into his pocket and pulled out a bulging satchel. As he unbound it, the chink of coin cut through the unease in the room. Sadu showed the man his gemins, flat pieces of dull gold with gems of different colors and sizes locked in the center. The man pulled a silver blade from under the cushions and leapt from his platform. He was much shorter down here, and more petite than he once seemed. If it weren’t for his clothes, Sadu would have mistaken him for a woman.
“That is a sizable sack of gemins for one wearing the tatters of a slave.”
“These gemins are worth more than everything you have in this tent, except for that,” Sadu pointed at the platform, his finger drawn straight at the base of it.
A single bead of sweat fell from the man’s brow. He gripped the knife tighter but his demeanor had not changed, “You speak wildly, slave. I’m sure you know the consequences for someone like you speaking like that to a free person. You are fortunate that I do not have a door for your tongue to be nailed to.”
“Only if what I say is untrue. The items in this room are all but forgery,” Sadu scratched his chest. The irritation dwindled, but he felt the silver blade at his belly instead. Sadu brought his hands up, “I am only here on the orders of Hektet.”
“Hektet?” The man eased the blade from Sadu’s belly and secured it in his waistband, “No one would dare be associated with that dreadful heifer.” The man paused for a moment, “She never employed anyone who couldn’t be trusted, or so the rumors go.”
Sadu bound his coin sack and placed it back into his pockets. He reached into the other and pulled out the hilt he was crafting, “I need this jeweled at once.”
“How strange! You hold such valuable things in your pockets.”
Sadu shoved the hilt towards the shopkeepers’ hands, “No one takes anything from me unless I let them.”
I let them. I let her.
The shopkeeper took the hilt and his eyes shimmered like gold, “This crafting is astonishing! Who would have known Hektet had such talent.”
“She doesn’t. That is from my hands alone.”
He looked Sadu over, gawking at the anomaly he saw before himself. “How did the buyer want it?”
Sadu rolled open a piece of papyrus and handed it to him. The shopkeeper looked it over and eyed the paper strangely for a moment. He analyzed the incisions for where the jewels would be set. He rolled the paper up and placed it in one of the folds of his pants.
“Come back in an hour,” the shopkeeper waved Sadu off and carried the hilt towards his platform. He called back without turning his head, “Name?”
“Sadu.”
“Ahh! I thought you may be the Iron Master. Oh the irony,” The man took a deep breath. “Sadu. An eastern name for a slave? Are you from the east?” Before Sadu answered, the man waved the question away, “It is none of my concern. Uroko is my name. I will see you in one hour.” Uroko watched Sadu carefully as he exited the tent.
*****
An hour moved like five under the Batapnu desert heat. Sadu grew tired of standing at the door of the tent. He hunted for a spot to rest his legs, A good slave would’ve waited at the door when running an errand. Sadu laughed and walked to a rest way on the side of the trade route. At the bench there was a small stick with the tip covered in sand. At the foot of the bench were remnants of drawings in the pale golden dust, blown away by the wind. He took a seat and drew the few hieroglyphs of Batapnusi he remembered. He started on a sketch of a woman filling a jar with river water. Next to it he drew a straight line with dots sprinkled on top of it. After that was a broken sword.
“Take back the things that were taken from you,” An elder man read his hieroglyphs as he left the toilet stall.
Sadu scraped his work and tossed the stick on the floor. He stared off into the desert as if he hadn’t heard the man.
“I’m no spy,” the elder man laughed. “For chattel, you sure know the old tongue well. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone use it since I was a child! It almost looks as good as the phrases on the old monuments, or in the seven libraries.” The old man looked at him with pity, “You must come from a noble family. Fallen on hard times? You don’t look like much of a drinker. Was it gambling? Ah no! A strong, young man like you. It must have been the women. Back when I didn’t need this cane, I got into a lot of trouble chasing women. I almost lost everything I had.” The man gently pushed his cane around in the sand, “Oh, I have lost my manners! Rham is my name.” The elder man stuck his hand out.
“Sadu,” He responded with a handshake.
Rham squinted, “A strange name for a noble son. Where did you say your family came from?”
“I didn’t.”
Rham scoffed, “You young people are so rude! You have no respect for those who built all you have.” He stormed off.
“I do not come from Batapnu, or anywhere in the Gemini Kingdom,” Sadu spoke softly.
Rham stopped walking. He turned back, “Where then?”
“I was learning to read when my mother and I were sold. We came from the east thirty cycles ago, but from where I do not remember. It was a long journey, and all I had to read was a recipe for yam soup.” Six yams, water, a bundle of Yheri leaves, he recalled the first three ingredients.
Rham sighed, his interest seeming to fade once he found out the man he spoke to came from the east, “It is a tragedy what they do to women and children in this trade. No young child should go through that. I’m sure it was better than anything the east could have offered you though.” He patted Sadu on the shoulder and walked off. Rham may have lost interest in the conversation, but now memories stirred in Sadu’s mind.
His first master, Pharees, was strict yet fair for the first few years. He had three rules for the children: first, they must learn the ancient language of his people, and forget the wicked tongues they knew before. Second, they will serve his house dutifully until cast out into the fields at adulthood. Lastly, they were to always remain covered from head to toe, until they left for the fields where they could hide no shame. At the first sign of maturity, he made sure to check for any hair that may have grown on the secrets of their body. He liked to beat the men bloody for sport, and hunted the women with a lustful hunger. His cruelty was spared on the children, until they grew hair on their genitals. The thick, dark curls drove Pharees mad with rage and lust.
His childhood with Pharees, his wife, and children had been carefree. He was treated better than any slave on their land, though his mother was treated the worst. As he got older, Pharees grew fatally ill and the cruelty of slavery had finally reared its ugly eye toward him. Unfortunately Pharees’ children were now of age, and they had no distinction between rage and lust. His eldest son, Pharon, had spent a great deal of his ire on Sadu. Taking his frustrations out on him by the whip, and at night by his flesh.
The flap of the jewelers tent was drawn open and Uroko stepped out. He smiled at Sadu, “A timely slave is a good slave indeed. Come, come! And don’t forget those gemins!”
Sadu wiped his eyes and headed inside the tent. He was relieved that Uroko had finished the handle when he did. Memories he had worked so hard to bury had been unearthed by the terrible winds of reflection brought about by Rham.
“It was difficult, but nothing I couldn’t do,” Uroko picked up the handle from a diamond table in the center of the room which hadn’t been there before. “This sigil is strange and I’ve never seen it before,” he drew his hand across the encrusted jewels which formed the shape of a reptile. “Dragons are a fabled creature of the south, known for their greed and callousness.” Uroko handed the hilt to Sadu, “Beware whoever falls under this creature’s patronage.”
Sadu handed the man eight gemins. It was more than what the work was worth, but less than what the customer was willing to pay. Uroko made no protest.
*****
The blue-hued sky had transformed into streams of burnt orange, turning the colorful city of Batapnu into a collage of shadowed buildings. The sunset sky spoke to him through color, and it was the loudest at dusk. The way the thin, white wisps of cloud transformed into pink called to him. The trouble was that it was like someone shouting across a wide, raging river. He knew something was being said, but what he did not know. It was a comfort on his silent walk back to Hektet’s tent.
The sun made its descent into the underworld, and the city fell into slumber. He was in near darkness as the tent came into view. A steed grazed at the few patches of sandgrass in front of the main tent. It lifted its head on alert. The stag’s coat was as white as clouds, and its eyes were a sharp pale yellow like a crocodile. The horse bent its head downward and locked eyes with Sadu. A deep, growling whinny followed its stare, and the horse went back to eating grass.
The flap to Hektet’s tent was tied open and the flicker of candle light bounced out. Hektet would give him forty lashes if he interrupted her time with guests, even though they felt like finger flicks to him. She could be in good spirits…drunk off ‘em. As quietly as he possibly could be, Sadu crept around Hektet’s tent to the slave quarters in the back. He didn’t want to see Hektet in a bad mood, especially not a great one. The sand below him crunched loudly under his gargantuan feet. The sword hilt knocked loudly against his iron bracelets as he took a step.
“Is that Sadu?” Hektet yelled. “Ahken! Call him in here at once!”
Ahken stepped out of the tent wearing worse rags than Sadu. He was the youngest slave of Hektet’s, and unfortunately good looking too. His eyes hung low from the special flowers Hektet gave her chamber slave during evening time. He stumbled over, “Sadu, Madame Hektet told me to…to tell you that… she wants you in her tent immediately…. with no delay!” Ahken slurred his words. He placed his arm around the Iron Master as best he could, and picked through the curly hairs on Sadu’s chest.
Sadu looked down at Ahken whose face read of longing and desperation. His eyes were glazed over, and he acted as if he were sleepwalking. Sadu moved Ahken’s hand, and rubbed his own on Ahken’s shoulder, “Soon you will find your way, freedom has been promised. This is not our destiny.” Sadu kissed his forehead.
Ahken was drunk with laughter. He took Sadu by the hand, and led him into the tent. The room was lit by three candles which sat at her desk. He recalled seeing candles lit all around and way up high whenever his mistress would entertain. His mind filled in the lavish throws and plush pillows that were scattered about, untouched by the candlelight. Hektet was dressed in her sleeping robes, and her hair had been bound in purple silk. It was apparent that she had been caught off guard with a sudden visit.
There was a man sitting opposite her. His back was facing Sadu, but he could see the man sniff the air. His hair flowed like wild, crimson magma down his armored shoulders. The candlelight accentuated the ruby red of his suit of armor, and the flicker made the color flow like blood.
“The hilt is complete, yes?” Hektet asked through pursed lips.
Sadu nodded, “All that is left is to bond it to the sword.” He took the handle from his pocket to show that the task had been done. “The mambele is in the blacksmith shed, madam.”
“Mam-be-le,” the man sounded out the word as if it were the first time he heard it. He still did not turn.
“The swords are for this gentleman,” Hektet motioned to the man in front of her as she rose.
He was slow rising to his feet. His wide back flexed as he stood. He wasn’t nearly as large as Sadu, though his presence took up much more space. The image of a raging dragon on his back took Sadu by surprise. Its teeth were red with blood, and it had a hide woven with flames. The man turned to Sadu and grinned. His face was white like the moon. He had heard tales of a land of southerners who lived without sunlight, a curse of colorless skin. His thick auburn beard covered most of his face. His crimson hair and shiny red armor made him look like a man of flowing fire. Sadu walked up closer to him, knelt, and presented the handle to him. Up close he could see the man had a beautiful, flawless face unlike anything he had seen of a seasoned soldier.
The man admired the dragon on the handle. He looked at it for a mere second before his eyes met Sadu’s. He had expected the man to say something, but all he did was look him up and down. “Such craftsmanship from a mere slave. Tell me, were you once a blacksmith?”
“No, sir. I have been a slave most of my life.”
The man’s eyes widened, “And before then? Before you were a slave?”
“We came from the east when I was a boy, my mother and I.”
“The east? No wonder your mother would rather make you a slave than live amongst disease and waste.”
Sadu conjured up lush forest and glittering mountains when he thought of his original home. The thought brought a warm smile upon his face. “Yes, my mother was a good woman,” replying in his own time.
The man of flowing fire looked upon Sadu, grinning as if he happened upon a highly-sought treasure. He addressed the room, “I am on a quest to traverse this vast, mysterious world and go further than any explorer has. You are the first person I have ever met from beyond the east marshes. It is where I am heading next. Have you ever been back home?”
Hektet interjected “He is my best slave! I have him for less than 3 moons and I will get every bit out of him until he is free of me.”
“How about I buy you out now? I can pay five times what you would get out of him.”
Hektet puckered up like ice had been shoved up her ass. She gestured for the man of flowing fire to take a seat. “Sadu, go finish the man’s sword while we come to an agreement,” she swatted him away and fell far back into her chair.
Sadu left to bind the sword to the handle. The horse remained grazing at the door, and Ahken stood watch, smiling and giggling to himself.
The cooled mambele welcomed him into the blacksmith shed, sitting like a crown of antlers upon the anvil. He shuffled through a large leather bag and pulled a spindle of polished leather rope. He then threw the mambele and the long blade on his work bench. The triangular tang of the blade went directly into the fire, then quickly set into the jeweled handle. Sadu plugged it off with a studded copper pommel. He shook the handle a few times, and slashed the sword through the air. Good.
He focused his attention on the mambele. Around the handle, between the two longer blades and the third smaller one, he wound the roll of polished, flat leather rope. His mind drifted to the images he saw earlier. Lush forest and glittering mountains entered his mind like a waking dream. It seemed to go on forever, an endless sprawl of land and vegetation. Storms, and rain, and rivers, and lakes lived there. Animals lived off the land and vitality thrived, so did illness. The wind blew the aroma of gardenias into his nostrils, and the smell of smelted iron followed.
Sadu finished the first section of the handle, but noticed a river of red flowing down the central blade. He dropped it on his work bench and stared at the blood coming from his thumb. The sensation was odd to him, almost indescribable. It had been some time since he felt pain, or seen his very life force dripping away, and it overwhelmed him. He sucked his wound, then gripped it tight. After the pain had quelled, he laughed to himself, “This is a great blade.” He ripped off a piece of a rag and tied it around his wound, like he did countless times on Pharees’ land.
Commotion grew outside, and shadows danced in the light of bright torches. Sadu peeked through one of the several tears in the tent. Bald women talking to Ahken…from earlier. Sadu pushed through the tent flap with both swords in hand. The two women were now accompanied by two men with thick, black hair running down their shoulders. They all dressed in worn robes, but stood with the poise of royals.
The woman who threw the throwing stars that afternoon stepped forward, “Sadu of Hektet’s dowry, you have encroached on the safety of one of our most revered elders. Punishment is public flogging on the morning of the Lord’s Day.”
Sadu smirked, “A—“
“We show great mercy on those who have trespassed upon us. Rather than see you bloodied, we want to use your natural gifts of servitude. Your freedom had been promised to you in three true moons time, but we gift you with a full rev of duty to Elder Mara.”
“I will not!” Sadu affirmed. One rev was twelve moons, a service of nine moons longer than he would accept.
One of the black-haired men cried something in Faruki, the language of the Faru people west of Mantu Bay. Ahken, roused from his delirium, rushed the man to the ground. The other dark-haired man pulled him off by his short, bushy hair. Ahken stumbled backward into the side of Hektet’s tent where the bronze leaf blade of the dark-haired man dove into his shoulder. Ahken stared at the wound and let out a sleepy scream. The white horse whinnied.
“What de fuck is goin’ on out here?” Hektet burst out of her tent, “Who is y’all? What you doin’ to my Ahken?!” She pushed the dark-haired man away, and with him his sword.
“He attacked a brother of The Way. His punishment was deserved,” The dark-haired man spoke as he wiped his sword clean.
“He is mine by law! Any discipline upon him will be done by me, and me only!”
“He is yours by law, but his spirit belongs to The Way.” the bald-headed woman pointed at Sadu, “By order of the faith of Pathos, I, Sister Sheba, decree ownership of Sadu to be turned over to our service.”
“I have been promised freedom in three true moons, as you said. I will not be in bondage any longer.”
The disciples all drew their weapons.
“Be careful brothers and sister, this one is quick and strong,” Sister Sheba said. They spread themselves out, forming around Sadu with weapons at the ready.
“Are these mine?” The red-haired man appeared. Sadu hadn’t noticed him leave the tent, but there he was. He grabbed the straight sword from Sadu. “Beautiful, even more balanced than the previous!” He swiped the air in the direction of the disciples, “Keep the mambo…or however you say it. You’ll be needing something to fight with.”
Sadu held the mambele out, “I’ll show you just how great a weapon this is.” He sent the crowned blade towards the disciples. It screamed while it cut through the air from left to right. The disciples dodged the mambele, except for one of the men whose knee split horizontally. His bloody calf fell to the sand along with the mambele. Sadu didn’t give him a chance to react before charging at the one-legged man like a cannon. The man braced himself, and the other disciples came for the Iron Master. Sadu vaulted over the bleeding man, and snatched the mambele from the sand. He swung against the raining bronze blades which followed him.
The barrage of blades effortlessly crumpled like thin aluminum sticks on stone. All except one fell back, the woman from earlier that day, Sister Sheba. She tossed her warped weapon, and crouched low to the floor. Sadu and the Sister stared each other down, neither budging. She sprinted like a jackal going for a kill. Sadu expected her to tackle him, an action he found to be amusing. Her pause was brief, and her kick was swift. She planted her hands and foot on the ground and collided with Sadu’s chin.
Sadu tried to grab her, but she was quick and nimble. The other disciples got into the same position as the Sister did. The Sister was landing strike after strike on Sadu, sliding between his legs, rolling over him, and using his own weight to trip him. She grabbed his arm and guided it to his back as she locked her legs around his throat. Sadu’s voice sounded like a rusty pulley gear struggling to function. The disciples closed in on him. They had been hyper focused on Sadu, and failed to see the sword creeping from behind.
The red-haired man invited his sword into the base of one of the disciple’s skulls, and through busted teeth. He kicked the woman off his sword and swung at the remaining disciples. Their reserve blades held up better against the straight sword, but the red-haired man’s strikes were powerful like a raging firestorm. He was aggressive and unrelenting. He came for the disciples without mercy. His mania scared the disciples into dropping their weapons, and falling to their knees for mercy. They couldn’t get out one word before their tongues flailed, eyes bulged, and hands struggled to push the blood back into their throats.
Sister Sheba stopped trying to crush Sadu’s throat at the horrible sight of her fallen brethren. This gave Sadu the chance to push himself up from the ground and land on his back, but not before the sister did. She loosened her grip, and he broke free. She tried to jump back on him, but he swatted her with the back of his hand. She fell to the ground and couldn’t get up. She crawled away, struggling to move from him but he walked over and snatched her by the legs. He picked her up then punched her out cold.
“Oh no. No, no, no. What de hell! Two dead disciples in front of my tent?” Hektet screamed. “Two witnesses left!” She looked at one of the long-haired disciple, “Well, maybe one. He look like he uh bleed out soon enough. What ‘bout her?”
Sadu still held the Sister by her collar. He looked at her chest, her movements were shallow but she was still breathing, “She is still alive. We can keep her in one of the back tents until we—“
“We?! Who say I in this? It was you, and this pale man that done all this.”
“What do we do Hektet?” Sadu asked.
“It’s Madam Hektet, slave.” She looked around, and took a deep breath. Her exhale was intrusive and cutting, “I can’t stay here, be they think me the one who done all this. Even with de witness. I think it best we move back to Pharon’s estate don’t you think Sadu?”
“No! I will not go back to that place.” Sadu grumbled.
Hektet laughed, “You are my property boy. You go where I say.” She turned to Ahken, “Go round the other slaves, and get the tents and supplies packed up.”
Sadu grasped Ahken’s shoulder, “No!”
“You think you big and tall now? You fight a bit for once in ya life, and think you can tell me what to do?! I got your skin for three more true moons, though it should have been for life for what you pulled!” she scowled at the Sister.
“One month wage,” the red-haired man spoke. “For his freedom.”
Hektet laughed hysterically, “One month? You must think of me a fool. Why would I ever do that?”
“As you said, they will be coming after you! Who is to say you didn’t order your own slave to kill these people? Hmm? Retribution for trying to take him from you!” The red-haired man’s eyes grew dark.
“None of this is true! That sister will tell her truth!”
“Not if her tongue is gone,” The red-haired man was there before he had finished his sentence. He pulled her tongue out and went clean through. The Sister woke from her slumber, screaming and rolling in pain. “Here,” he tossed a sack of gold at Hektet’s feet. “Take what you will from the tents, but leave him. Burn the bodies inside to give us more time to escape. With hope they will think it was you and your slaves.”
Hektet nodded and grabbed at Ahken.
Sadu grabbed him back, “He is with us.” He stepped in between him and Hektet.
She grabbed Ahken but Sadu swatted her hand away. Slaves peered from the dark crevices between the tents. Their eyes grew big on Hektet.
“Come, clean this up!” Hektet commanded her slaves. She grabbed the sack of gold and turned away from Sadu and Ahken as if they were no longer there.
“You are now free to do what you wish with life.” The red-haired man announced from beside his horse. “What will you do?”
“His wounds need attending,” Sadu propped Ahken up against his body. “ I’ll try to see if I’m in anyone’s good graces ‘round here.”
“Come with me. I have brought one of our court healers. He will be able to look after your friend.”
Sadu looked down at Ahken, who winced in agony but shook his head in agreement. “What do you ask for in return?”
“I ask that you guide me east, past the marshes, and chart the hidden lands with me. You are the only person I have met from there, and though your time was from years ago, I feel that your guidance is key.” The red-haired man smiled. His deep blue eyes pulled Sadu in.
“We will join you, but first your name.”
He mounted his white stallion, “I am Caliban, nephew to the true king of Destica.”