Vial of Tears, page 8
“Of course. Why do you think this is called the Lions’ River?” He pointed toward the channel of water they’d begun to follow. “This is where they come to drink.” He raised his nose to the wind. “A female was stalking us for a time, but she took a deer instead.”
At that, Sam paused, untied her sandals, and tucked them under her arm, picking her way along the damp ground, giving her blisters a reprieve. She could run faster barefoot.
When the river’s dark water turned, so did they. It rushed over rocks, muffling Teth’s voice. “The river narrows eventually,” he shouted, “but we cannot risk following it any longer. We will ford here.”
Near the bank, the stony bed shone through the surface, but after a few feet the water turned a deep shade of green and she could no longer see the bottom. A broken branch sped past, bobbed underwater, and resurfaced again much farther downstream. A few boulders rose from the river like knuckles, but there was no bridge, no easy walkway of stones. She wondered what kinds of creatures might be hiding beneath the surface.
Rima was limp in Eshmun’s arms, her eyes closed. Sam glanced at one of the knives in Teth’s belt, close enough to try for. Eshmun followed her eyes and then set his jaw.
“Go on,” he said. “Try.”
When I get the chance, she thought.
“My sister is injured and in pain,” she said, glaring at him and pointing to the roiling water. “We can’t possibly cross here.”
Eshmun held Rima out toward her, like an offering—and then pulled her back. “I have your sister,” he said grimly. “I am crossing the river. You will cross the river. You have no say. Do you understand?”
Sam nodded, swallowing down her anguish. Baalbek was no longer in sight. There was no way to get Rima away from him. There was the tannîyn out there somewhere. There were lions. He was right: she had no say.
Eshmun handed Rima over to Teth, then stripped off his clothes until only a short tunic covered him from waist to midthigh. He folded his cloak and tied it with his belt into a compact square, then stooped to take off his leather boots. Around his neck hung a necklace on a leather strand: a pendant, a symbol of the sun. He took Rima again and draped her over his shoulder like a spare jacket.
“You will carry Teth’s belongings,” he instructed.
He snapped his fingers and Teth dutifully dropped to all fours. Eshmun climbed onto his expansive back, straddling him. As soon as he was situated, Teth stalked like an animal toward the river and entered the water without hesitation. He swam swiftly across the current, letting Eshmun and Rima off safely on the opposite bank.
Teth pivoted and swam back to Sam. Once onshore, he shook the water from his hair, turned his back to her, and crouched down. When Sam didn’t climb on, he let out a low growl, one that suggested that he would force her if he had to.
She put her sandals inside Teth’s bag and slung it over her shoulder. “I can swim,” she said curtly, wading out into the water at the river’s edge.
With the next step, a rock rolled underneath her and she felt her ankle turn. Even in the shallows, the current challenged her balance, and the water was frigid, already making her legs numb. She realized that Teth’s heavy bag—weighted with a frying pan, a wool blanket, and various vials and weapons—would take her straight to the bottom.
“Get on his back!” Eshmun yelled from the opposite bank. He had put Rima down on the rocks. “Now!”
“Damn you!” she said, turning around and climbing back to where Teth was waiting. She gripped the nape of his neck and swung a leg over his back. He smelled like a wet dog. “Go,” she said, and he stalked toward the river.
She was certain her head would go under, but despite his size, Teth was buoyant. He cut effortlessly through the current, while the freezing water turned her legs to lead on either side of him. When they emerged on the opposite shore, Sam crawled and scrambled up the rocky bank, scraping her knees as she went.
Shivering, she went straight to Rima, who was—miraculously—pulling herself to her feet. The color had returned to her cheeks. Her eyes were bright.
Sam felt queasy with relief.
“He fixed it?” she asked, gripping Rima’s hand.
Rima nodded, turning to watch Teth as he shook the water from his hair, sending droplets flying. He had a fish in his mouth—a trout—and his canines seemed longer than before, almost extending over his bottom lip. His nose twitched as he took the fish from his mouth and held it in his hands, his dark fingernails like claws curled around the trout’s silver body.
“I suppose we cannot eat now,” he said, disappointment in his voice.
“No,” Eshmun said, scanning the sky. “We cannot.”
Teth tucked the fish into his bag while Sam wrung the water from her hair. She looked over her shoulder at the wide and angry river that kept them from running back to Baalbek. It rumbled and churned, spitting over the rocks.
“Shall I bind them again?” Teth asked Eshmun.
“No,” Eshmun said, his face and beard still wet. “There is nowhere for them to go.” He tipped his chin toward Sam. “Give her the smaller bag you have within yours. Fill it and let her carry it.”
From a distance came the sudden and unmistakable sound of the tannîyn screeching. Rima let out a terrified gasp.
Wordlessly, they rushed to gather their supplies, then hurried deeper into the rough terrain, threading their way over gritty, rocky ground and beneath an archway that looked like a rib cage. In its dark recesses, Sam caught a glimpse of black fur, maybe a bat.
The air was still, and the way became steep and stony. With slabs of gray all around them, Sam felt as if she were walking through a tomb. Soon the ground became fractured, making a rough natural staircase, and Sam could feel it in her thighs as they worked their way up and into the mountains. She shifted her bag—it had already burrowed into her shoulder, weighted with the frying pan.
Along the pathway, small, chalky stones lay in piles. She picked one up and scraped an X on the wall to her left.
She knew it was no better than leaving a trail of bread crumbs. But it was all she could think of, the only way she could mark their route when it came time for them to flee again and double back. After all, that was her plan: wait until they had an opportunity, then run and retrace the way to Baalbek. That was where the funnel had brought them.
It had to be the way home. It had to be.
Once, Sam remembered, Dad had lost them at the county fair. Rima was nine and Sam was eleven. They’d eaten caramel-dipped apples while they rode the carousel. When the ride ended, it left them off opposite where Dad had paid for their tickets. They circled the ride three times searching for him, the carousel animals peering down at them with painted eyes. There had been a bear, a tiger, an ostrich, and a zebra rearing and flaring its nostrils. Sam had expected Rima to cry, but she hadn’t been afraid. Not one bit. They had a pocketful of tickets and no one to tell them no. Rima made faces through the House of Mirrors and tossed popcorn off the top of the Ferris wheel. They were barely tall enough for the Tilt-a-Whirl, and then they watched a magician make a dove fly out of his hat. Daddy will find us, Rima had said lightly, stuffing bright blue cotton candy into her mouth. They still had five tickets left, so Rima raced off for the bumper cars, and Sam did her best to keep up. Don’t worry, Sam! We’re not lost forever!
Sam shivered in her damp dress. Even in the sunless sky, the snow-capped peaks shone bone white. She hadn’t heard the tannîyn again. Maybe it had given up on them. Or maybe it would be waiting on the other side of the mountain range.
“They say a giant dropped his dinner plate from one of the summits,” Teth said, tipping his chin upward. “We are walking across the broken pieces.”
“What’s so important in Sidon?” Sam asked. “Why do we need to get there so fast?”
“It is my lord’s city-state,” he explained with a proud lilt in his voice. “He hastens home, where he reigns—and where his loyal people and his army await.”
“What the actual fuck?” Rima asked.
Teth raised a bushy eyebrow at Rima. “Speak the native tongue, child. It is to your benefit to be less conspicuous.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Your arrival and the call of my lord’s obol are like stones upon water. Ripples will emanate. Unseen creatures will stir. The god of death has felt your presence.”
“We’ll find our way out of here,” Sam reassured Rima. “Don’t worry.”
When Dad had finally found them that day at the fair, she and Rima had been eating a giant, sugary sno-cone. They were all out of tickets and money, and Sam remembered clutching a little strip of photo booth pictures. In the bottom frame, Rima had her mouth stretched open with her fingers, while still managing to press her nose back. Where the hell’ve you two been? Dad had asked with a laugh. He was grinning from ear to ear, amused by their apparent lack of concern. But Sam remembered the way his hands had been shaking when he scooped them both up, and how he’d said into their ears, Don’t you ever disappear on me like that again, hear me?
And then he was the one who disappeared. Missing In Action.
Sam put one foot in front of the other. The mountains grew taller. Dad was still alive. They weren’t lost forever. They would find each other again.
The wind whistled, and Sam thought she heard singing—or laughter.
Teth heard it, too. “Ruḥā,” he said, touching a finger to his ear. “They are trying to speak to us.”
“It is only the wind,” Eshmun countered. He had stopped to wait for them. Ahead, they’d have to crawl through a crevice in the rock: The path went directly through a cracked face of limestone.
“Not. Wind,” Rima croaked.
Sam saw the shadow first, then felt the movement in the air. Eshmun was right: it wasn’t ruḥā.
The tannîyn hovered above them, its wings silently beating, as quiet as a butterfly.
Its left eye, bloody and sunken where Sam had thrown the knife, was useless. But its right eye was quick and alert: It went from Teth to Eshmun to Rima, and then settled on Sam. She felt her blood turn as cold as the mountain wind. Opening its fanged mouth, the tannîyn hissed like a boiling kettle.
“Go!” Sam screamed, shoving Rima past Eshmun toward the crevice. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it was breaking her, a hammer against glass.
The tannîyn tucked its wings against its sides; it landed and balanced in the middle of the pathway. Eshmun and Teth were trapped behind it.
Sam backed up against the limestone face as Rima crawled inside, screaming for her to hurry. The tannîyn stretched its toadlike face, its nostrils flaring inches from Sam’s chest. It was smelling her. Tipping its head sideways, it pulled its mottled lips back and grinned.
As if it were considering how best to eat her.
The world turned dark at the edges. Sam closed her eyes and collapsed to her knees as the tannîyn snapped its mouth above her, a spray of acid saliva raining down on her shoulders, blistering her skin.
Through the narrow opening, Rima shrieked, “Come on!”
Teth roared, and the tannîyn suddenly slid backward. Was he pulling it? It sank its talons into the rocky path, screeching and gashing the stone.
Sam thrust her head through the crevice, an avalanche of fear threatening… She would faint soon. She crawled forward, her hands bruising on loose rock, but her feet weren’t through yet. The tannîyn would grab her by the ankles.
Rima hooked her hands under her arms and yanked. Sobbing, Sam kicked forward, and together they got her inside. She curled into herself and looked back.
The tannîyn’s good eye—reptilian yellow—peered at her from the crevice’s cleft, its scaly face pressed against the opening.
Rima screamed. And then so did the tannîyn, its pupil a sudden black chasm of surprise.
Its shrieking split the mountains, echoing, ricocheting. Sam felt like its talons were digging inside her ears, piercing her head from one side to the other. Finally its screams stopped, but she could hear it flailing against the limestone, raking and clawing, the sound of its wings beating like a desperate moth against a closed window.
And then there was silence.
Teth was at the opening. “I left a knife in the beast’s belly,” he explained, drenched in sweat. Grunting, he pulled a slab of rock aside, making the opening wider. Even so, his hips barely cleared each side as he squeezed through. “My biggest and sharpest blade. I am sorry to see it go,” he said as Eshmun followed more gracefully.
“Did you kill it?” Rima whispered desperately. “Is it dead?”
“I believe so,” Teth said, huffing to catch his breath. “I watched it fall.”
Sam looked down at her trembling hands. She’d crushed the chalky stone she’d been carrying. Fine white paste coated her sweaty palms.
“I thought you said it couldn’t follow us into the mountains,” Sam said to Eshmun, wiping her hands on her dress. The tannîyn’s saliva had burned through the fabric and into her shoulders; they stung horribly.
Teth sat on the ground wiping his brow and taking inventory of his remaining weapons. He reached into his bag, pulled out a jar, uncorked it, and took a long, gulping drink. The smell of black licorice and liquor filled the air.
Eshmun flicked his hand at them dismissively and began walking again.
Sam helped Rima to her feet and nudged her ahead. They left the shelter of the stone for the open air, and soon, the trail dropped away on one side. If she wanted, Sam could reach her toes into the thin air and touch the tips of pine trees. On the other side, the mountain wall was so close that her elbow became scraped with cuts.
They walked in silence for a long time. Teth had fallen so far behind she could no longer see him. After all that liquor he’d gulped down, she didn’t know if he could keep his balance at all.
The path narrowed even more, and she stopped.
“Are you kidding me?” she asked. She wiped a hand across her sweaty upper lip. The rocky chasm waited patiently for her to make a mistake with her footing.
Eshmun and Rima were now well ahead of her, out of sight; perhaps they had not slowed down for this precarious section of trail, but then again, Rima had never been afraid of heights.
Sam took a few shaky steps, one foot directly in front of the other. At this altitude, the air was empty. It was hard to breathe. She could hear a sickening scraping noise, like nails on a chalkboard, and realized it was the sound of her grinding her teeth.
A gust of frigid wind descended from the peaks above, pressing Sam flat against the wall and then pulling her away. She clung to the knobbed surface of the mountainside, her nails breaking against the stone.
I will not fall. I will not fall. I will not fall.
Ahead, she could see the way widening, a small respite—the mountainside curved inward like a cupped hand, and there the footpath broadened. Sam cautiously hurried forward, but just as she reached safer ground, a familiar voice rang out.
“Šlama ‘lekh.”
Sam startled backward, sending pebbles skittering. “How… how did you get up here?” she asked, her heart pounding in her ears.
Before her stood Zayin, almost hidden against the rocky wall.
“Easily,” Zayin said, fluttering her long gray eyelashes. She nodded to a massive hawk above Sam, perched on a hump of stone. It tipped its head sideways at her, eyes narrow, its yellow-and-black beak sharp at the tip.
“Take this and fill it.” Zayin offered Sam a vial the size of a salt shaker. She wore a gray tunic now, tied tight at the waist, and her gold pendant had been traded for a necklace of sharp animal teeth. Her legs were sheathed in leather boots, laced tightly up to her thighs.
“Do what?” Sam asked. She pressed herself tighter to the mountainside.
“Fill it,” Zayin repeated pleasantly, pressing the vial into Sam’s hand. She squeezed her fingers around Sam’s, her gray skin warm and smooth, her beauty radiant, mesmerizing. “Fill it with the tears of Eshmun.”
“His what?” Sam asked, bewildered. “Why?”
Zayin smiled with her even teeth. “If you do not carry out this task for me,” she said, “there will be consequences.” She shrugged. “I might take your sister. I might take you as well. You would make interesting additions to Melqart’s harem. Or perhaps I would enjoy a fresh female in my own bed.” She reached out and twisted a lock of Sam’s hair around her supple finger. “I have not yet decided. Maybe I will sell one of you.”
Sam swallowed. She pulled her hair away from Zayin, then looked up at the hawk and its beady eyes. “Why can’t you get your own tears?”
“Alas, Eshmun’s tears are quite difficult to procure. Those I have purchased in Kition’s black market are diluted or counterfeits,” Zayin said, sighing. “Pure tears are rumored to be hidden in Sidon, but soldiers guard the walls and streets of the city. We have failed at flying in.”
The hawk lifted a wing to expose the tip of an arrow lodged in its side. It looked like an old wound, healed over.
“But you,” Zayin said, “will walk right into Sidon on the arm of Eshmun.” She gave Sam a coy shrug. “Your fate is in your hands. Make haste. I do not care to grow any older waiting.” The hawk dropped down from its ledge to the alcove beside her, and she flung a leg over its side, mounting it. “Do not tell Eshmun.”
“Why not?” Sam demanded. She reached out and grabbed Zayin by the ankle. “Why shouldn’t I tell him, or Teth?”
Zayin’s eyes darkened. “You do understand, do you not? That he will never let you go?” She yanked her foot out of Sam’s grip and kicked her in the chest, knocking her against the mountainside. “Talk of the prophecy has begun to spread across this world like hellfire.”
Sam reeled from the blow, dizzied. What is this prophecy everyone keeps mentioning? She struggled for a breath to ask a more important question.
“If I get the tears, will you help me?”
Zayin let out a wicked, honey-coated laugh. “No.”
Sam swallowed. She could hear Teth approaching from behind.
“You are in no position to haggle,” Zayin continued. “I have found you. I know where you are. Others would like to know as well. They would like to meet you. I can fly to them. All of them—and make a handsome profit in exchange for what I know. And believe me: they are far worse than Eshmun.”
