Noksalika itched, frozen to the spot. Crossbows had suddenly appeared at the edge of the tunnel entrances, held by partly hidden figures. They were mantrels with ugly looks on their faces. Around her, Hanaman’s crew had silently snapped into defensive stances, aiming weapons above and around them.

Things were tense. If someone said the wrong thing, events could get nasty.

‘Put your weapons down,’ shouted Hanaman, ‘or we will kill every last motherfucking one of you.’

Delicate glints danced on the points of weapons, loaded and ready. The crew eyed up the tunnels. The rebel mantrels looked back at the crew.

A bolt crashed between Hanaman’s feet, sending shattered splinters through his legs. For a second, Noksalika thought she heard sniggering.

‘This is our land, God-given,’ came a call from the second or third row of tunnels. ‘You are barbarians and witches. God is great! Now fuck off!’

Hanaman widened his eyes a little, stunned, looked round and looked at Noksalika. ‘We’re not here to fight,’ he shouted over the ancient carvings, well aware his comrades had their weapons aimed and ready. ‘We-’

‘You dogs,’ shouted the same mantrel, who seemed to be the spokesman. Noksalika tried to get a better glimpse of him, behind the hefty wooden death machine pointing roughly in her direction. ‘Your passage through our land has been monitored. Your coming brings us nothing but anger.’

‘Why?’ she replied.

‘Becau-’ There was a sharp pause. ‘Just because!’

‘I mean, we don’t wish you any harm.’

‘Don’t wish any harm…?’ The voice sounded incredulous. ‘You carry the stain of the Ethe! Hypocrisy and fascism are your watchwords!’ There were some quiet “Mmmm”s and nods from the other guards; the rebel seemed on firmer ground.

Noksalika shot Hanaman a baffled look. ‘No they’re not. Mine’s always been “Hot sex”.’ She looked around, mouth hanging open for a second. ‘Okay that’s two words.’

‘Just shut the hell—’ started Hanaman.

‘You trespass on our land as if it were your own,’ continued the guard spokesman with a growl.

‘Your land?’ Noksalika frowned at him. ‘It’s not legally your land.’

‘God recognises no laws but His own!’

Hanaman let out a long exasperated sigh.

‘Seriously,’ continued Noksalika, ‘why do you have to be so bloody stubborn? The Federated Mantrel Substate doesn’t recognise you. No-one recognises you. ’

‘And we do not accept you, heathens.’ There was a wet mouthy noise; a globule of spit landed near one of the llamas, which looked highly unimpressed. ‘We have no need of deeds or documents. God gave us this land. God is great!’ More muttered approvals and curses echoed quietly round the space.

‘I am the cousin of Kingminister Viega,’ thundered Hanaman, loud and deep for such a small pair of lungs. ‘And I have great need to see him.’

‘You, an Ethe dog? The Kingminister’s cousin?’ The crossbow wobbled slightly as the guard chuckled. Barely in the corners of her eyes, more picked up by her skin, Noksalika sensed the crew tighten and focus on a chance. A chance that could get them all killed. She tensed, ready to drop or run…

Hanaman gave a steely stare up at the tunnel.

‘What do you want, a fucking birthmark?’

The guard burst out laughing, a dark throaty sneer. One or two others joined in. ‘Okay,’ he called down to them. ‘But just you. And the girl, she looks pretty and harmless.’

Noksalika bridled, Hanaman coughing to conceal a smile.

‘We’ll see what the Kingminister makes of you. I’ll laugh if it’s anything except meat for the crocodiles. Now come on, weapons on the floor, hands where we can see them.’

‘You’re probably wondering how this mission involves you.’

‘I’m more wondering why I’m tied down in a wet dungeon.’

‘Oi,’ said the mantrel guarding them, prodding her with a spear. ‘This is a holding bay. We don’t do dungeons.’

‘Oh that’s alright then,’ she muttered, more for her own benefit.

Dungeon or not, it was black and cold and damp and Noksalika was sure she could feel something small crawling about under her back.

They’d had their hands tied and been marched through square corridors of smooth black stone, handed from one set of guards to another – only the sergeant at the entrance had stayed with them. They’d finally been tied down in a dark rectangular space full of dampness and grime, old machines of wood and metal lying around rusting. A few non-military mantrels drifted around the space, chatting or working on the machines; Noksalika thought she saw one with dirty overalls and tools, presumably an engineer. The prisoners were cast a few dirty glances but generally ignored, which Noksalika found surprisingly annoying.

‘I should probably tell you anyway,’ insisted Hanaman, looking away from her. He rubbed his wrists above his head, getting a feel for the itchy rope.

‘Mmm, you probably should.’

The air was cool in the hideout-palace-thingy place, out of the heat of the desert. Noksalika had started to think of as a temple complex; a few guttering torches on the walls here, a couple of dragons there, and it’d closely resemble some of her porn video set-ups.

‘There’s more politics involved I’m afraid.’

‘I thought as much. You know I only understand sweeping classical music and hardcore degrading sex, right?’

‘I know, I know, I’ll try and make it as simple as I can.’

‘I am a girl, after all.’

‘The Committees have been making more demands on the Federated Mantrel Substate,’ Hanaman began, ignoring her sacrasm. ‘Demands that, according to most people, fall outside the agreement of the Treaty of Thanodolina.’

‘What kind of demands?’

‘Oh, withdrawing funding, re-allocating jobs, cutting research, kicking farmers out and stealing their land. Boring stuff, I know, but the kind of thing that causes a lot of upset. There’s been a lot of friction between the elders of the Substate and the Committees.’

‘So? We’re not in the Substate, are we?’ Noksalika recalled the concerts and parties she’d held in the Substate, then shuddered remembering the warmth of civilisation.

‘No we’re not. But the public is getting angry with the elders, and angry with the Treaty. And the more angry people are—’

‘—the more popular the rebels get,’ Noksalika finished for him, pre-empting his train of thought.

‘Mmm-hmmm. The tribes have been doing recruitment drives in the Substate, all of them,’ Hanaman whispered. ‘Not that there’s any need. People are leaving of their own accord, if they can escape the golems. The Committees have increased security, which just makes people angrier.’

‘Okay, okay, but…’ Noksalika tried to think quickly, ‘…what does it matter? Why does it matter if people want to leave the Ethe? That’s their own crazy decision.’

‘Because there’s a fucking big apocalypse happening in the South,’ Hanaman hissed, snapping his head round to look her straight in the eye. ‘It’s big, Noksalika, do you understand that? Do you fucking get it?’ Noksalika lay in stunned silence for a second, unable to repy before he continued: ‘Relations between the Committees and the Mantrel Substate are in tatters. I don’t have anything against a few religious nutters—’ he glanced carefully at the guard, ‘—prancing about chanting with candles and doing their own thing, but we won’t defeat these bastards unless we’re together. The power of the Ethe is weakened every time someone gives up on it – someone like you – and neither the Committees nor—’

‘Oh, it’s my fault now is it?’ she snapped bitterly.

‘I was just commenting,’ said Hanaman evenly. ‘The Ethe needs everyone on the same side, but neither the Committees nor the elders are acting sharp enough to save lives and actually fight this thing together.’

‘Really.’

They locked gazes for a few seconds, unblinking.

‘So how do I help bring everyone together like some fairy tale?’

Hanaman breathed in. ‘You’re not going to like it.’

‘You know, you’ve said that so much recently-’

‘Okay bring ’em in,’ called a voice to the standing guard. They looked round to the nearby doorway, and saw more guards in worn red leather uniform coming to drag them away.

Noksalika currently faced the threat of being caught by the authorities, sacrificed by pirates or eaten by an alien horde. And yet she knew if she ever got back into the pornographic industry, she would make the Kingminister’s throne room one of her scenes.

It was utterly luxurious, like something out of the most audacious film set Noksalika had ever seen. The space was square, a cube cut out of the blackest marble; ghostly wisps of grey and purple wove across the polished surface of the walls. There were mirrors, mosaics, abstract gold statues of gods she’d never heard of, banners woven with blue and silver; between them all, mantrels in a mixture of bad suits and leather armour argued around heavy unpolished wooden tables. Square passages led away from the centre of all six walls, each with a guard dressed in leather and chainmail.

But the most stunning thing was the throne itself. It hung in the centre of the space – rich blue ropes ran from all eight corners of the room, fixed with bronze moorings, to a gold-plated gyroscope a dozen feet wide. And inside the gyroscope, smoothly rotating round to greet them, was a square throne made of more gold with worn, dark red padding.

The Kingminister eyed them coldly.

Around the bizarre gyroscope contraption were platforms that orbited with ropes and pulleys; sitting on them were two female assistants dressed in rather smart latex catsuits, surrounded by maps and sexual paraphernalia. While her brain was distracted by thoughts of sex in a gyroscope, Noksalika’s eyes saw the Kingminister was dressed in a black suit, a black tie slackened around the open collar. Noticeably overweight, the Kingminister looked tough, uncompromising; his lined, pale face was scratched with numerous small scars. Between his long, curled horns he wore a skullcap of crimson felt over a shaved head.

‘Sire,’ called the sergeant from the gate, tipping his head slightly to the Kingminister above. ‘The prisoners.’

Kingminister Viega nodded slightly in return, and fixed his gaze on Hanaman.

‘Well,’ he spoke after length, a heavy dry voice. ‘My traitorous cousin.’

‘First cousin twice removed,’ smiled Hanaman, hands still tied behind his back. Noksalika wrenched her wrists uncomfortably.

‘It’s “sire” to you.’

‘You’re not my sire, Viega.’

‘Brave boy, Hana-mana-man,’ the Kingminister said dismissively. One of the beautiful assistants floated by on a platform, popping a grape into his mouth seamlessly. ‘Especially as I’ve got the crocodiles out the back. Snap-snap-snapping away they are, all the time.’

‘I’m here on urgent business,’ Hanaman ignored him and the vacant lazy threat. ‘I wouldn’t be here otherwise. There is great trouble in the South. Massive slaughter of innocents.’

The Kingminister frowned. ‘So?’

‘It is engulfing all lands, and won’t stop when it reaches Goltangi.’

‘Stop talking in olde-worlde-speak, Hanaman,’ sighed Viega, unimpressed. ‘What do you want?’

‘A united Ethe.’ Hanaman stuck out his jaw, clenching his fists behind his back. ‘The Ethe is the natural power of the land, and it’s the only thing that can fight this invasion. You must call a truce with the Federated Mantrel Substate and the Committees, and get the other tribes to follow. You must join the Ethe.’

The Kingminister frowned deeply, quickly followed by the other rebels in the room. ‘You insulting little shit. Your people sold out to the Ethe, sold out to secular evil and banality. And you come all this way just to insult me and my people. Take them awa—’

‘I have something you want,’ Hanaman cut in before the guards could move. He looked at Noksalika, hopeful desperation in his eyes. ‘I have brought you Noksalika Chuunim.’

A hush rippled out from the centre of the large room, as guards and diplomats alike froze at the sound of the name. All turned to the two prisoners standing by the passageway. Noksalika turned to Hanaman.

Viega hadn’t moved a muscle, but Hanaman could see his dilated pupils, could sense a lead weight had sunk into his mind. ‘Surely not … this?’ The Kingminister gestured at Noksalika, all matted hair and sand-scratched skin.

Her eyes widened and she turned from the Kingminister to Hanaman and back again. ‘Hanaman, what is this?’

‘This worn and damaged woman you see is the one and only Noksalika Chastity Elastia Chuunim.’ Hanaman took a half step forward, taking courage by the room’s sudden surprise. ‘The famous Noksalika Chuunim, the world’s superstar.’

One of the beautiful assistants quickly stood up and leaned her head into the Kingminister’s ear, whispering. ‘This woman,’ he began, ‘according to my scouts inside and outside the land, goes by the name of “Tarabonitz Suhanrohan”.’

‘A strong and skilful disguise,’ Hanaman brushed the question aside. ‘Her identity will be proved on request by the Committees.’ Hanaman ignored the startled look on her face and took another step forward, craning his neck to look up at the Kingminister. ‘You may despise the Ethe, but you still treasure her name and her fame.’ He caught Viega’s eye. ‘I remember working for security in the Substate, watching so many of you creep over the border just for, just for a glimpse of her when she toured the Federated Substate – including you, Kingminister.’

‘Now hang on—’ Viega started.

‘I present to you the very queen of the world,’ declared Hanaman, wondering if he was overstepping the mark, ‘and her hand in marriage.’

‘What the fuck…?’ said Noksalika loudly, breaking her silence.

‘You will be married to the hottest superstar in the world, the most desirable woman that ever lived – and yes, I know you personally lusted after her for so many years. But her magic exists only on the Ethe – her image, her allure, her fame, her body. She can only survive on the Ethe. So in return, you will speak to your people, to the other tribes, to the Mantrel Substate, and to the Committees. And you will embrace the Ethe.’

Everything was quiet, as though sound had been sucked up by all the glorious soft furnishings that still sang with colour. It was broken by Noksalika, whose face was also singing with colour.

‘I think we need to discuss this!’ she half-suggested, half-yelled in Hanaman’s ear, and with her elbow and shoulder managed to barge Hanaman back round the corner into the passageway.

‘I said you weren’t going to like i—’

‘Are you out of your fucking mind?’ she hissed down in his face. ‘This is what you wanted me for? You want to reveal me to the Committees for this?’

‘It’s our best shot,’ said Hanaman defensively, somehow more scared of Noksalika than the Kingminister.

‘I’m obviously very grateful to you for rescuing me, but you never said – I mean – fuck!’ She trailed off, trying to find the words in her rage. ‘You said I’d be free to do what I liked afterwards?!’

‘Well, you’d be the Queenminister,’ Hanaman replied frankly. ‘I don’t imagine there’d be much you couldn’t do.’

‘I’d be married to a religious lunatic!’

‘Look,’ Hanaman said firmly, squaring up to her shoulders with his. ‘Forget all the negotiation stuff, right? That’s almost circumstantial. By marrying you, he commits his people to the Committees, he locks himself in to the Ethe. If he does it, all the other tribes do it. He won’t need to speak with them or the Substate. It’d be symbolic enough to tie everyone in together.’

‘Sounds a wonderful holiday,’ said a familiar voice to her left. ‘Sadly you have other commitments.’

A face had grown in the wall.

Smooth and black like the stone itself, it had been there forever, if not actually five minutes ago. And still there was that that mischievous look, those lips that rose just a touch at the corners.

‘Who are you?’ said Hanaman flatly, anger in his low voice.

‘Noksalika, darrrrling,’ the face drawled, blankly ignoring Hanaman. ‘We still have a deal. I’m glad you’ve had a fun trip in the back of beyond – I think we’d all agree this desert place is an absolute dump – but I’m still expecting for you in Rhajallington.’

Noksalika froze, her mouth hanging wide open.

‘Your contact,’ breathed Hanaman. He turned to the face in the wall. ‘Fuck your deal. I’m trying to stop everyone from getting killed.’

‘I really couldn’t care less, goat-boy,’ Piarowef said breezily. ‘A deal is a deal, Noksalika. Did I mention what would happen if you broke it?’

Noksalika could barely think. He’s here without the Ethe. He has powers beyond the Ethe. It was at that point the pain started.

‘Don’t listebwwwbbnnwwwbbb,’ Hanaman seemed to say. Around Noksalika, everything blurred as electricity froze her brain; sounds slowed down, everything was muffled. Her skull felt too small for her brain. Red flashes swam across her vision.

He can reach everywhere. He can go where the Ethe isn’t.

Her leg muscles collapsed, but somehow she had enough control to land on her knees and keep her torso upright. She heard Hanaman’s helpless cries like a loud blanket being placed on top of her, unable to pick out any words. Behind that, she heard other sounds, longer, louder shouts of distress … and a huge, slow, rumbling sound, like a volcanic earthquake in slow motion.

Then suddenly it stopped. Everything was clear and bright, like seeing the world through crystal glass again. She gasped, and smiled up at Hanaman. But he wasn’t looking at her now – he was watching the hurrying diplomats and courtesans rushing past in the corridor, screaming and shouting.

Piarowef smirked darkly from the wall. ‘Looks like you don’t have much of an option now. See you in Rhajallington.’

With a grunt she rocked back onto her toes and straightened her legs, swaying and staggering small steps, nearly knocked off-balance by a mantrel rushing past. She watched Hanaman go to the passage entrance and then nearly jump back as a guard staggered back and fell down with a crossbow bolt sticking out of his throat. He crouched awkwardly, snatching at the gurgling guard’s knife with his tied hands. She crept up behind him, and they spent frantic seconds back-to-back as Hanaman cut her hands loose and she did the same for him. They both peered out into the throne room.

Dead bodies lay scattered all over the walls, riddled with crossbow bolts and throwing stars. Blood punctuated the tapestries and statues. At first, it seemed as though the gyroscope had simply vanished; turning to her right, Noksalika could see it had smashed into the wall, dented and broken. Something had broken it free of two or three ropes – something with force – causing it to come crashing down. Amongst the debris Noksalika could see the shattered remains of a statue and the bloody, crushed torso of the Kingminister.

Across the cube-shaped room, the pirate mantrels grinned at her. And behind them stood the vast body of the Captain, holding another statue ready to throw. He craned his neck up to see them, dropped the statue, and bellowed.

Continue to Chapter 9 -->

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