Vial of Tears, page 7
Eshmun unfolded the letter and studied it silently. “It is an odd but familiar script… and this is not papyrus.” He ran his fingers over the thin paper. “What does it say?”
“I don’t know,” Sam said, and the moment the words left her lips, she knew Eshmun would think she was lying. He scowled at her. “I’m telling you the truth. I need someone to translate it for me.”
Eshmun looked again at the letter, his eyes flicking between the script and Sam’s face. Finally he folded it and tucked it inside his robes, mumbling to himself.
“What is it?” Teth asked him quietly, but Eshmun shook him off with a troubled look. “You were meticulous in your search, Meem?”
She bobbed her head—nodding over and over again—and then shook herself like a bird. She seemed, quite literally, ruffled. She was a terrible liar.
“Be well,” Eshmun said to her. “And tell no one we were here.” He gathered up Sam’s and Rima’s clothes and gave them to her. “Burn them.”
“No!” Sam said. “You can’t do that.”
“All of it,” Eshmun said. “Into ashes.” He handed Meem a small fur bag that bulged at the bottom—apparently payment for her work. “Give my regards to your parents, and to your grandfather.”
“Thank you,” she said with a deep bow. “I am always, in all manner of ways, at your service.” Teth ushered her to the door, where she almost imperceptibly brushed a hand against his, before ducking away and flitting out of the house.
As soon as the door was shut and bolted once more, Eshmun turned to Teth. “Gather the supplies. We leave for Sidon.”
“My sister and I are staying here,” Sam said firmly. “You know we don’t have your coin. We’ve been searched. You don’t need us anymore. This is where the funnel dropped us, so the way back must be nearby.”
“Yeah. Let’s go,” Rima said, taking a brave step toward the door. Teth blocked the way. She looked up at his hairy face. “Move it, Sasquatch. Or I’ll scream.”
Teth didn’t move.
“Do not speak,” Eshmun said, “with your foreign words. Do not call for help.” He paused, then tipped his head toward a thought. “Or perhaps you should. Yes. We shall sit back and see who comes for you.” Rima slowly turned to face him, her lower lip trembling. “I am certain your former captors would enjoy a reunion,” he added.
“Leave her alone,” Sam said.
Eshmun pulled a thin blanket from the bed and tossed it at Teth. “Bind and gag them.”
“You can’t do this,” Sam said, angling herself to guard Rima.
Teth was silent as he ripped the blanket into long strips. He moved behind Sam and gripped her—struggling was useless—mumbling in her ear as he tied her wrists behind her back, too tight.
“Tyābutā,” he said. Shame. Regret.
Sam wasn’t sure if he was feeling uneasy with his task, or if the remorse should be her own. Apparently, she was a thief, after all. She kicked at him uselessly while he threaded the gag across her mouth, the taste of the fabric rife with body odor. Teth then pushed Sam and Rima into opposite corners of the house while he and Eshmun discussed what they needed to pack, which route to take, weighing one weapon against another. Teth tested the blade of a knife against a fingertip, drawing a drop of blood.
“I’m sorry, Rima,” Sam choked unintelligibly through her gag. Now they faced a journey even deeper into this strange world.
Sam looked up at Eshmun, who was deliberating between two vials of liquid. He corked one and placed it inside his bag. Something dark welled inside her. If he hurt Rima, she would kill him.
She would drive something sharp straight through his keyhole pupil. She would not hesitate.
6
The outline of Baalbek and its temple had long faded behind them.
Sam worked her jaw back and forth, forcing the gag in her mouth to stretch. The taste was nauseating, but she licked the strip of cloth anyway, turning it damp and limp. Her new sandals—too small—bit into her toes. Rima walked ahead of her, her hands ruthlessly bound, and Sam could see where the fabric had cut sores into her skin.
She felt a burn behind her eyes. Rage.
“Think of the prophecy,” Teth said as he huffed alongside them. They marched through a valley on a worn dirt road, among fields of crops, blue in the twilight. “What if these girls are here to help you fulfill it?”
“Lā,” Eshmun said. “My obol has come for me. I am on my way to šmayyà to be with my family. This world is not for me, not any longer.”
“Of course, my lord,” Teth said. His eyebrows dripped with sweat, and he wiped it away with his sleeve, a rough, dull fabric like burlap. “It will be a great marzeḥ—a glorious reunion—when you are in heaven with your mother and cousins and friends once again.” He paused, as if weighing his choice of words, then spoke haltingly. “I am certain, my lord, that you have thoroughly considered the prophecy in light of… others, and their own desires.”
“Yes, of course,” Eshmun said tersely. “My uncle’s machinations are always at the forefront of my imagination. And my nightmares.” He waved them forward, his cloak snapping in the wind. “Hurry.”
Patches of lavender lined the path they followed, and the air was tinged with the scent of the flowers. They were the same shade of purple as the sash Eshmun wore, slung low around his waist. He wore high leather boots that fit tight against his calves, and in them he stalked noiselessly ahead.
With every step they took, Sam felt more and more defeated. With his knives, Eshmun could kill them at any moment. Teth could crush their bones like walnut shells.
“The clothing Meem gave the eldest is too fine,” Teth called ahead to Eshmun as he struggled to keep pace. “No servant of yours would wear a white linen dress and a rabbit belt. With a clasp made of gold, no less!”
Rima glanced over her shoulder, and Sam caught the look of hopelessness on her face. They locked eyes and exchanged a wordless moment of solidarity, and then Rima faced forward again, her shoulders slumped, though Sam could see that she was still working her wrists against the fabric ties.
“She could appear to be a relation of yours, dressed so richly,” Teth continued. Sam could hear his labored breath as he fell farther behind. “How will you explain her in Sidon? Any woman you bring will be noticed.”
Sam wrenched her jaw back and forth, and finally, the gag slid over her lower lip and onto her chin. Her pulse roared.
A moment later, to her delight, Rima had managed to wriggle free of her hand bindings. Warily, she looked back at Sam; Sam in turn glanced at Teth, but he hadn’t noticed.
“Of course, by the time we reach the sea, her dress will no longer be white. It will be caked with filth.” He cupped his hands over his mouth. “Friend or foe, cousin or confidante,” he boomed, “you will need to decide before we reach Sidon!”
What was waiting for them in Sidon? How far away was it?
Keep your hands behind your back, Sam mouthed, frantically stretching the fabric around her own wrists, twisting and pulling.
Rima nodded.
“The golden threading in her dress suggests royalty,” Teth called after Eshmun. “Is that what you intend to claim her as?” And then suddenly, he announced, “She will be your concubine! Your favorite, and that is why she wears these fineries!”
Sam’s face went hot. Concubine. Rima turned with wide eyes.
Eshmun halted on the path and faced them, his arms at his sides, his hands in fists. Nearby, a river rumbled without pause like a perpetual roll of thunder. Above, the sky was navy blue and streaked with clouds.
With a start, Sam realized it was still dusk. It had been dusk for hours and hours—for as long as they’d been there—with no sign of the moon or stars.
It sent a chill down her spine. This place was wrong… in so many ways. They had to get out.
“You go left and I’ll go right,” she whispered to Rima.
They would have to stay off the road, or they might run into whoever was following them—the snake-woman, or whomever Eshmun’s father had sent. Though she hadn’t started running yet, Sam’s heart pounded furiously.
“If we get separated,” she hissed, shedding the bindings from her wrists, “I’ll meet you on the steps of the temple.”
“What?” Rima asked. She scrunched her face into a questioning look. “Right now?”
“Yes. Go!”
Rima pivoted and broke into a sprint. Rima’s soccer legs carried her fast, but Sam’s sandal straps gouged her with every stride.
Teth swiped at them as they bolted around him, dodging his meaty fingers by inches. Eshmun bellowed behind them.
“Above!” he shouted. “Above!”
Above? That wasn’t the word Sam had anticipated. She looked up.
Something was there. At first she thought it was a small airplane, but then its wings flapped.
It flew in circles, surveying the land below. A bird? A deafening shriek ripped the air in half; Sam pressed her ears closed, her eyes watering from the sound. The creature shot downward, and Sam could see that its body was covered in scales rather than feathers, and its talons were black daggers. It had mottled, toadlike skin, wide-set eyes perched high atop its head, and the nostrils and teeth of a crocodile.
It was a monster.
She wheezed an unintelligible warning at Rima—too far ahead. They were both out in the open, completely vulnerable.
Rima threw her hands over her head and screamed, running toward a thick and sprawling tree for cover. But in one quick swoop, the beast was upon her. Its talons gripped her by the shoulders, digging into her flesh, snatching her up. Her dress instantly turned red.
“No!” Sam screamed, struggling after her.
Then the thing turned and flapped back toward Sam. Its enormous wings were strangely quiet, hitting the air with silent strokes. Hovering above her, it assessed. Taunted.
“Help me, Sam,” Rima gasped. Her face was white with terror. She dangled like a captured rabbit.
There was a growl behind Sam and then Teth was at her side, aiming a long knife. He flicked his wrist, and the weapon sank into the thing’s cheek.
It shrieked and dipped, and Teth plucked up a boulder from the earth and hurled it. The rock clipped the beast’s wing and it wavered downward. Closer. Sam put every ounce of strength into leaping for Rima. Her fingertips grazed the soles of her sister’s sandals, but she fell to the ground empty-handed, tasting dirt in her mouth.
Above her, Rima had gone limp, her eyes closed.
With a throat-shredding scream, Sam pulled herself to her feet, snatched a bronze-handled knife from Teth’s belt, and hurled it at the flying monster. She was suddenly ten years old again, throwing knives at the tree in the backyard while Dad stood by chewing on his toothpick. The trunk full of scars. The knife would miss. It always did.
But this time she’d aimed perfectly. It sailed straight for the beast’s throat—
—until another one of Teth’s rocks struck its face, and the monster spun sideways.
“No!” Sam screamed with despair as the knife uselessly sailed through empty air.
Suddenly, Eshmun was at her side. He pulled a jeweled knife from his belt, and, with a quick nod, handed it to her.
Without hesitation, she flung it. Hard.
And this time, it slid into the thing’s left eye.
Sam gasped at her success. But the beast’s cries shattered the dusky sky, its high-pitched screeching like glass in her eardrums—the pain was excruciating. She sank to the ground and covered her ears, watching through tears.
The monster flapped its wings crookedly. Rima fell from its talons.
There was a long, gaping silence, and then there was the blunt sound of Rima hitting the rocky ground with a bone-breaking crunch.
“Oh God,” Sam choked. “No, no, no.”
She rushed to where Rima had fallen, then fell to her knees and desperately cradled her sister. A thin trail of blood spilled from Rima’s mouth; Sam wiped it away with her thumb, streaking it across Rima’s chin. She looked up to catch the last glimpse of the monster disappearing, heading toward Baalbek, screaming as it went.
“Please don’t be dead,” she sobbed into Rima’s ear. “Wake up. Please, Rima.”
Teth shook his fist at the sky. “It… it… no, it cannot be! A tannîyn!”
“Silence!” Eshmun roared. “Do not speak its name!”
“What could it be doing here?” Teth spat. “What is it looking for?”
“Them,” Eshmun said, nodding at Sam and Rima. “It will soon double back, and it will be angry.”
“Mom,” Rima moaned.
Sam gently pushed her hair away from her face. “I’m here. It’s Sam.”
Teth looked down at the two of them. “In the name of Ba’alat Gebal,” he murmured, pressing a hand to his heart. “First a funnel from another realm, and now a…” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “A tannîyn. What will the heavens bring next?”
“That beast has nothing to do with the heavens. It was birthed at hell’s doorstep,” Eshmun said darkly. “We must rethink our route. Let us cross the river as soon as possible—it will not be able to follow us into the mountains.” He knelt next to Sam and Rima.
“Get away,” Sam said hoarsely, her throat sore from screaming at the tannîyn. If Rima died here, in this world, Sam would never forgive herself. “This is all your fault.” She pulled her sister closer. Her dress was soaked with blood at the shoulders.
Eshmun leaned into her face, his teeth bared. “How dare you? You, who took my burial obol? My sacred coin should be in my possession as we speak. Your sister hangs on the verge of death because of your theft.”
“Because you brought us into this world!” She smacked his chest and shoved. “If you lay a finger on her…” She hunched over Rima, shielding her. Anger like boiling poison burned her from the inside out. “I’ll kill you. I swear it.”
Teth let out a grunt of laughter. “She is a feisty one!”
Eshmun let his eyes linger on Sam’s face. “Hold her back.”
“What are you doing?” Sam cried as Teth took her by the arms. Eshmun pressed his hands against Rima’s wounded shoulders; Sam tried to lunge at him, but couldn’t. “Stop!”
Eshmun’s voice dropped into a chantlike cadence, quiet and reverent. He was listing strange names, or maybe places. Is he reciting some sort of prayer for the dying? Sam twisted to try to free herself. She kicked Teth’s shins, but they were stones of muscle and bone.
Eshmun held his fingertips to his eyes and then gently stroked Rima’s forehead. Finally he stood aside, and the moment Teth released Sam, she fell at her sister’s side. She was sure Rima was dead.
“I love you,” she sobbed. “I love you so much.”
But Rima stirred. Sam’s heart ascended with such velocity she felt like she might faint.
Her sister’s eyelids fluttered open. Her breath came out in spasms. Her hazel eyes, wet with tears, darted back and forth.
“Rima!” Sam cried. “Thank God!” She hugged her tightly, tears still streaming down her face. “What did he do to you?”
Sam pulled Rima’s stained dress open to look at the skin where the tannîyn’s talons had cut her so deeply. There was nothing there. Not a scratch. Even the old scar from when Rima had fallen against the coffee table was gone. “I… I don’t understand. He… healed you?”
Rima shrugged, her eyebrows furrowed. She seemed to take inventory of herself, rolling her shoulders, flexing her fingers. “Mostly,” she winced.
“What are you?” Sam asked Eshmun. “How did you do that?”
“He is Eshmun,” Teth said solemnly. “Sole offspring of Melqart and a Tyrian princess, Nuhrā, a great healer. Her father was a healer before her, and her grandmother before that. Eshmun bears the gift of his ancestors.”
For one fleeting moment, Sam thought to thank him. Rima was alive and breathing—she couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe. Eshmun had powers.
But then she felt her jaw tighten, her fury plunging deep. He had bound them and dragged them across the valley. He had brought them here. He had put them in danger.
“Come on, stand up,” she told Rima, rising and offering her hand.
“She is unable to walk,” Eshmun said. He glared at Sam. “Or run.”
“It’s my ankle.” Rima grimaced. “I think it’s broken. From when the monster thing dropped me.” She slumped backward, lying flat on the ground. “I just… I feel like I need to sleep.”
Sam felt her throat tighten. The cold realization hit: Eshmun had not healed Rima completely. He’d saved her life, had taken away her mortal wounds.
But he’d purposefully left her a little broken.
He gave Sam one last look of warning before scooping Rima up into his arms. “Come,” he commanded, leaving Sam no choice but to follow.
7
“Make haste, child,” Teth said to Sam. “Those who follow us will close the distance. The beast will return. And there is always the chance of lions. We must continue.”
But Sam didn’t need to be told. Eshmun was striding ahead with her sister, Rima’s feet hanging on one side and her hair on the other, brushing against his thigh with each step. She scrambled after them.
“Put her down,” she demanded. “Fix her ankle.”
But Eshmun only walked faster, and eventually, Sam grew tired and fell behind with Teth.
Ahead, the snowy tips of mountain summits glowed white against the twilight sky, and a warren of foothills stretched before them. “Will we stop for the night?” she asked, wondering how they could cross a river and navigate ascending trails in the dark.
“There is no night,” Teth said.
“What do you mean?” Sam asked. “It never gets dark?”
Teth gave a curt shake of the head. “May the gods forbid,” he said. He unfolded a parcel from his bag and handed Sam a piece of thin bread. She pushed it away, too sick with worry to eat.
“There are lions?” she asked, finally registering what he had said earlier.
