Stand, Stand, Shall They Cry
by Michael Ehart

Michael Ehart’s stories have appeared this year in Ray Gun Revival, The Sword Review, Every Day Fiction, and Fear and Trembling and in anthologies including Damned in Dixie, Magic and Mechanica, and Unparalleled Journeys II.

His book, The Servant of the Manthycore, releases November 17th from DEP. Michael Moorcock writes in the foreword, "It resonates with the authenticity of genuine myth, bringing a deep, true sense of the past; a conviction which does not borrow from genre but mines our profoundest dreams and memories; the kind which give birth to myths."

Ehart is married to one of the most beautiful women in the world and would offer "pistols for two, coffee for one" to anyone who disagrees but pesky laws get in the way and so offers instead to naysayers a referral to a good optometrist.

You can find out more about what he is up to at http://mehart.blogspot.com .

Miri slid across the narrow street, concealed by the shadows. Nineveh was huge, and she was lost. To her left she could hear the river Khosr, which ran through the city. They had not crossed it, so she was still in the northern quarter, but the streets were so twisted and overhung by buildings that she had no idea where she had gotten to. She had eluded her pursuit, but in the dark and unfamiliar alleys and passages there was little chance of her finding the Nergal Gate through which they had entered that morning.

Her mother had left her hidden in the broken-down remains of a building. “This was a brewery, last I was here.” Now it was just two crumbling mud-brick walls and a few beams of the caved-in roof. “You will wait. You are young. The priestesses will want you for the temple brothels, and I do not care to negotiate with them.”

“Will they have it, do you think?” Miri did not want to be left alone here, and every word delayed the moment of her mother’s departure.

“They may. Where better to look for the tear of a goddess than in her chief temple?”

“Will you be long?” Miri was certain that she had kept the quaver from her voice, but Ninshi, her adopted mother, was not fooled.

“I will be no longer than I must. I will make inquiries, and return. They do not care for me at the Temple of Ishtar.”

“If this building has fallen to ruin since you were last here, who then could still be alive to know you? Will they remember?”

“They will remember.” Ninshi had turned and strode off in the direction of the blue-painted walls visible over the buildings here near the river.

Someone must have, because soon after her mother had gone, soldiers had come. Miri had squirreled out between the walls, and watched from the shadows across the street as they searched the ruins where she had been. There were six of them, armed with long bronze-tipped spears. One, smaller than the rest, seemed to be in charge, if his yelling was any indication. His head was shaved, like the others, but his beard was trimmed square at the bottom and hung with metal rings, which jangled as he stomped around the broken square of the abandoned brewery. From the shouts that arose, she knew they had found her pack. She had left her bow, too, which left her armed only with the knife she carried at her waist.

Miri had paid attention to her mother’s lessons in the year since she had been purchased from the slave traders. She did not wait for the soldiers to think to search the streets surrounding the old building. She quietly trotted off into the gathering darkness of day’s-end, made much earlier by the looming walls of the buildings of the great city. Nineveh stank. Miri had been in cities before, but she was always amazed at how bad they smelled. She could almost navigate by her nose. Right now her nostrils were assaulted by the odor of rotten meat and old blood, which meant she was near at least one butcher’s. There was a tang of fish, too. She might be near the marketplace they had passed earlier in the day. It was different in the dark, without the townspeople crowding the narrow streets. Underneath all was the pervasive city-smell of smoke, decay, rotten garbage, and animal and human waste.

She heard a noise and ducked into the darker shadow of the wall behind her. A handful of soldiers clattered by, carrying spears and torches, but she made herself as small as she could, and they missed her. They were a danger, but Miri was more afraid of not being able to find Ninshi than she was of them catching her. She was small and quick, and even if they did corner her, they were unlikely to kill a nine-year-old girl out of hand.

When they were safely past, Miri continued in the direction she hoped would take her to the gate they had entered by. The moon was shy, hiding half her face, and the light she provided was dim. Miri’s footsteps were soft on the overgrown paving stones. Near the center of the street the traffic kept the road bare, but near the buildings where the dwellers dumped their night soil and food remains grass and other low plants flourished.

She passed by what she was certain was a tavern. It was tightly shuttered, and no light or sound came from within. Something was keeping the townspeople in, some fear or threat. Night in a great city like Nineveh was usually filled with cutpurses, whores, drunkards and thieves. Other than the bands of soldiers, she had seen no one since Ninshi had left her.

She avoided a pack of dogs feeding on something in an alley, and clambered over a broken garden wall when the way she had chosen dead-ended. Something bloomed there, and for a moment the stench of the city was lost in the perfume. The far wall was high, and in better repair, but a tree grew just inside, and she was able to use it as a ladder to the top of the wall. Cherry blossoms tangled in her hair and dotted her shift, slightly darker spots of grey on the travel-stained white cotton.

She tensed for the drop to the street on the other side, then froze. Light flickered from around a corner a hundred steps away, and grew to be the torches held by another group of soldiers. She slowly moved back into the shadow of the branches, and let them pass. For a moment the blossoms on the tree were a delicate pink, then faded with the light back to pale grey.

She dropped to the street. As she rose, she saw several shapes take form from the shadows opposite. They were children, perhaps her age. The dim light revealed little detail, but she could see that they were ragged, and that one of them carried a club made from a chunk of broken stone lashed to a stick. They were all staring at the backs of the departing soldiers in stances of pure loathing, and one of them turned and spat. She stood motionless, but he spotted her, and tapped the arm of his nearest companion. They whispered together for a moment, then started across the street, clubs and knives at ready. A grown man might underestimate her, but street children would not. She laid her hand on her knife, and glanced to her right where the soldiers had come from. It seemed her likeliest escape route. It was obvious to them, as well, and they spread out in an arc across the street to cut her off. She feinted to the left, then turned to dash to her right, when they suddenly froze, looks of shock on their smeared and dirty faces. At the same time she was jerked short by a grasp on her arm, and her mouth was covered by a rough hand that smelt faintly of blood. The street children scattered into the dark as Miri was yanked back against the wall.

Miri pulled her knife free, and turned into her captor as her mother had taught her, knife low and ready to slash up and inside of the nearest leg.

“Good,” her mother said in her harsh whisper, and let her go. “You were difficult to catch.”

Miri gasped, and breathed deeply to slow her heart. “How did you find me?”

“I followed you. My business at the Temple of Ishtar didn’t take much time. They were waiting for me, intending to hold me, perhaps for public display. It seems that since the last time I was here, a few lifetimes ago, they have used me as a device to frighten unruly children and weak-minded fools.” Ninshi gestured a direction, and they started down the street, whispering in the shadows as they went.

“How did you escape?” asked Miri.

“They tried to use sorcery to bind me.”

Miri was silent for a moment. The woman who she called her mother was ancient, kept alive through the centuries by the broken-tooth talisman she wore on a thong around her neck. That same talisman helped her to heal quickly from wounds, and protected her from all sorcery, save from the source of its own power. Lifetimes ago, she had been trapped into the service of a foul beast, the Manthycore, a devourer of men who required her to bring it food. She had spent the long, dreadful years serving in bitter unwillingness, luring generations of men to their deaths.

But shortly before she had met Miri, she had learned of ancient herbs, the shappatu, given to man by Enki after the Great Deluge so that they might command the beasts and so rebuild the Earth. If Ninshi could use them to command the beast, she might be able to free herself. The herbs had turned out to be difficult to find, so Ninshi had gone to the great Matar Kubileya, Mistress of the Tavern, Goddess of Drunkenness, most fervently worshipped of the thousand gods of the lands between the rivers and beyond. Matar Kubileya heard all that was spoken over bowl, cup or jug, and agreed to tell them of the location of each herb if they would in return gather for her seven rubies, said to be the tears of Ishtar herself, shed when the goddess of love had made her journey to the underworld. Which brought them here. Miri noticed that the sky to her left was lighter, with streaks of red and yellow reflected from the clouds. She tugged at Ninshi’s sleeve and pointed.

“It is the temple,” Ninshi rasped. “I left it burning, same as the last time I was here.”

Miri smiled to herself. Ninshi never seemed understand why those few who recognized her feared her so much. The great beast she served was immensely powerful, of course, but in its service she had become a legend herself, the Servant of the Manthycore, to be told of in breathless tales or sung about at lonely campfires. It was from one such caravan song, sung by the slavers who owned her that Miri had heard of the Betrayer, as she was called in the song. Miri had prayed that she would come and kill her captors, and the next day there she was, traveling the same road. The Betrayer hadn’t killed the slavers, which was disappointing, but Miri had somehow moved the fearsome legend to buy her from them, and they had traveled together since.

They halted in silence as another patrol crossed the street ahead. The city was a maze, with no clear plan and few straight streets. It was a little easier to see, now that the temple blaze lit the sky.

“Did you get the ruby?” asked Miri.

Ninshi’s distracted nod was almost lost in the darkness. “The head priestess was wearing it as a pendant. Foolish.”

Ahead there was a second, flickering light, fixed in place, but less bright than the burning temple. Ninshi gestured, and they boosted themselves over the half-high walls of a corral, avoiding the dark shapes of the horses inside. On the far side was a low building, stalls for the horses. Nishi climbed to the fence, then onto the roof. She reached down to help Miri up. Together they crawled to the far side of the roof and peered over.

The stables were backed against the river. Crossing it was a great bridge, made of stone. In the center of the bridge was a pedestal with a huge stone bowl atop it. From the bowl licked flames, lighting the six soldiers who stood beneath. Like the soldiers who had come for Miri they had shaved heads and square-cut beards, and were armed with spears and shields. With them was the small figure of a woman, dressed in white robes.

Ninshi sighed. “Only six, but still too many. They did not expect us to come this way, I think, but the south half of the city has many gates and older, lower walls. Very difficult to prevent us from leaving.”

Miri looked at her. The light reflected on her mother’s face deepened the appearance of the scars there, as did her frown. The oil in her heavy braid glistened faintly in the firelight.

“But Ninshi,” Miri whispered. “I have seen you fight more than six.”

“Yes, child, but not by choice. And look at how they are armed. I have only my sword. Against determined spearmen with secured flanks I would have no chance. They have positioned themselves well. On the bridge where they stand there is no way around them, and in the middle they are out of bow range, even if we still had our bows.”

Miri wrinkled her brow in thought. “We could make a sling of my belt,” she offered hesitantly. “And use it to throw rocks at them.”

Ninshi snorted. “Might as well throw dung at them.” She was still for a moment, then repeated slowly, “Might as well throw dung...”

The boy stared at Ninshi through wide, terrified eyes. He was filthy, dressed in rags, and he smelt bad, even over the stench of the city. His home-made club lay forgotten at his feet. Every time Ninshi moved, he cringed, and when she spoke, he babbled and drooled. Finally Ninshi backed away in disgust, and motioned to Miri to speak to him.

He seemed nearly as afraid of her, but at least he was able to talk to her. They had stalked him to this corner, and Ninshi had batted the club from his hands.

“Will you eat me then?” the boy stammered.

Miri wrinkled her nose in disgust. “No. You are not all that appetizing, in truth.” “But she is the Weeping Slayer, who steals children from their beds and fathers from their families. Did she steal you?”

Miri shook her head. “No, she bought me. I am her daughter. We need your help.”

“My help? But I don’t want to be a ghost!”

Behind her, Ninshi snorted.

“No ghosts,” Miri promised. “The uh, Weeping Slayer wants you to help her kill some of the temple soldiers. Would you like that?”

The boy looked up at her, meeting her eyes for the first time. Hatred overcame his fear for a moment. “They take our sisters, and make them whores. My mother was one, too, and they threw her out when she was no longer any use to them. She died of the coughing sickness. I wish they were all dead, the priestesses too.”

“Do your friends feel the same way?”

“The soldiers kill us when they find us. That is why we only come out at night, even tonight, when everyone in the city stayed in for fear of… of...” He gestured at Ninshi.

“Gather them, then,” Nishi rasped. “They will see some vengeance.”

“They will be too frightened,” the boy quavered, only now able to answer her.

“Then tell them I will give them one of these.” She held up a silver coin. A street urchin might never in his lifetime see more than a few coppers; this was a fortune.

“For all?” His eyes glistened.

“For each.”

Had he not been shaking so badly, the expression that crossed his face might have been mistaken for a smile.

The soldiers stood in the traditional stance of all soldiers in all times, that of bored competence. The butts of their spears rested on the road stone of the bridge, and their shields hung from their left arms. They were careful to avoid looking back at the angry face of the priestess, instead looking forward across the bridge, and gossiping or complaining quietly. From where she was hidden in the shadows at the end of the bridge, Miri could only hear the low murmur of their voices without being able to understand their words. She could just make out Ninshi’s crouched and shadowy form on the other side of the road.

There was a low whistle from the darkness, and two hand’s full of boys strode out onto the bridge. They were all of them dressed in rags and each carried a makeshift bag made lumpy by over-filling.

One of the soldiers laughed. “We have already eaten. You will have to peddle your old bread elsewhere.”

“Eat this!” shouted one of the boys, and they let loose a barrage of horse dung.

The soldiers were caught by surprise. Had it been a shower of arrows, half of them would have died right then. As it was, they were pelted and streaked with the freshest stable droppings that the boys had been able to gather from the nearby corral.

For a moment the soldiers held, but a second fusillade of horse shit was more than they could stand for. They emitted a collective roar, and the middle four threw down their shields and raced toward the pack of boys, screaming oaths. The boys let fly once more, then raced away into the darkness, shouting taunts over their shoulders. The four soldiers thundered past, all thoughts of duty clearly forgotten. Ninshi and Miri rose, and raced unnoticed toward the remaining two soldiers, who were cursing and wiping dung from their faces with the hems of their kilts. They jumped at the priestess’s cry, and straightened to bring their forgotten spears around, too late.

Ninshi’s sword cut into the side of the soldier on the left, and he grunted and jerked to the bridge stone floor, spraying blood. She spun and ducked a spear thrust at her head from the remaining soldier, slapping the haft aside with the flat of her sword. With her free hand she grabbed the top of his shield and yanked. He stumbled forward and she thrust over his shield rim into his exposed neck. He stood blinking for a moment, then slid silently off of her sword.

Miri ran between the corpses, with only the small priestesses between her and the other side of the river. “Duck past her,” Ninshi had said. “She is old, and will not be quick enough to catch you.”

The white-clad woman raised her arms, as if to stop her, and chanted something.

Miri was cold, and very tired. She had been running for what seemed like days, and suddenly she felt very sleepy. She didn’t like the cold, and the bridge stones seemed like an odd place to rest, but she was so tired, and perhaps if she just lay down for a few moments she would feel better. It would be easy to stop running, and just let the sleepiness and cold cover her like a blanket. She stopped, and stood blinking at the inviting road.

She heard Ninshi snort behind her, from what seemed far, far away.

“You have only bemused the child, and so I will spare you.” Miri saw her mother stride past her to the chanting priestess. Ninshi bent, grasped the gaping priestess around the knees with her left arm, and straightened. The priestess wailed, and disappeared as Ninshi threw her over the side of the bridge. There was a splash in the river below, then the wailing quietly trailed off in the distance as the priestess was carried downstream.

Ninshi turned and peered at Miri. She raised her hand, and gently patted her face.

Miri shook herself awake, took a great heaving gasp of air. “I am better, now,” she squeaked.

“Yes,” Ninshi said. “Now we must run. We have only a short time before dawn, and must be over the city wall before day catches us.”

They ran silently together through the darkness. For a while Miri thought only of running and hiding. But then a thought caught her, and she started to giggle. She tried to stifle it, but Ninshi heard and glared back at her.

“What is the matter, foolish child?”

Miri stumbled, overcome with laughter. “Might as well…” she gasped. “Might as well…” The city wall lay just ahead. Several low buildings leaned against it. “Might as well throw dung at them!” Miri hooted.

“Be silent and run,” Ninshi said, but there was lightness in her voice.

The End.

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