Jay Waitkus

Excerpted from AROZONO Publishing Presents The 2021 Annual   

The Waif by Jay Waitkus



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The sky above was ashen gray, as it had been throughout the region for nearly seven years.

Her brief journey from Ugarit behind her, the pretty young maiden padded in bare feet up the cobblestone walkway to the castle outside of Latakia. She stopped for a moment and looked up at the portentous structure, its impregnable walls half-covered in ivy. 

Eager to do what she came to, she knocked intensely on the enormous oak door before her. Eventually, she could hear the sound of boots tromping toward the entranceway from inside. The inlet creaked open, and with a look she felt certain she'd finally reached her objective.
 
The thin, rough-hewn man in shabby attire was disheveled and blurry-eyed at first, like he'd been awakened from a great slumber brought about by physical exertion, or far too much to drink.
 
His expression grew more pronounced, though, upon a glance at his visitor, her almond-shaped blue eyes and angelic, slightly impish, face the only things visible behind her hooded robe. 
 
The rest he tried to surmise, tracing the vague outline of her body behind the covering, quickly concluding, correctly in fact, that her beauty was rare and unspoiled.
 
A surge of lust overtook the middle-age ruffian, and he instinctively pushed back the unruly matt of dark black hair that had wadded up at the top of his head. Offering his guest a salacious grin with a mangled, gap-toothed mouth, he resolved she would be his, and soon.
 
"May I help you?" he asked her, innocuously.
 
"I hope so, sir," she said sweetly, offering an innocent, shy-looking smile. "I've come from the realm of King Danel on my way north, and have need of room and board for the evening. Of course I can pay you for –"
 
"No need," the man responded. "My home is always open to weary travelers."
 
"Thank you. That's very kind."
 
"Not at all, my dear," he said, standing aside to let her enter. "How many others shall I expect?"
 
"Why, none," she said, sounding a little confused.
 
"None?"
 
"Does that create a difficulty?"
 
"Of course not," he said with delight. "I confess, though, that I am a little surprised."
 
"Why, sir?"
 
"A young woman traveling alone through large areas of wilderness, and knocking on a stranger's door?"
 
"Yes, I realize how that must seem. I confess, though, that I was not properly made to understand the dangers of the terrain, nor the potential rigors of the journey. When I saw your beautiful estate, I thanked El for rescuing me. And you, of course, sir, for your forbearance and hospitality."
 
"Not at all," he said. "May I ask whose acquaintance I have the pleasure of making?"
 
"My name is Paghat," she replied matter-of factly. She searched his eyes for a trace of recognition, but none seemed to be forthcoming.
 
"I'm Yatpan," the man said, confirming what she sought to know. 
 
Every instinct urged her forward, but she fought them in hopes of getting the answers she wanted first.
 
With a welcoming gesture, the master of the castle led the young woman down the long corridor into the banquet hall. The large table, which had room for thirty people, was filled from one end to the other with the finest meats, cheeses, fruits, and wines available. Paghat was taken aback.    
 
"Yes, I know," Yatpan said. "My needs are well taken care of."
 
"Forgive me for saying so, but you must have a lot of servants."
 
"Nothing of the kind. In fact, the only one who lives here is me."
 
"But how could all of this be prepared without –"
 
"Please, sit," he said. "Eat. You'll have to forgive me. I receive so few visitors, I sometimes take for granted the privileges I enjoy here."
 
"Privileges?" she asked, taking a small bite of a pear.
 
"Indeed. In fact, this castle is not properly mine, in the strictest sense."
 
"Not yours, sir?"
 
"A gift, in fact. Nothing more. And endless provisions, too, that seem to appear from no-where. Payment, one might say, for a job well done. That being said, those I assist have the good sense to recognize the depths of my devotion. Clearly, I'm rewarded accordingly."
 
"I don't think I understand."
 
"Actually, you may. Especially if you're from Ugarit."
 
"What do you mean?"
 
"How long have you lived there?"
 
"Why, all of my life."
 
"Then as young as you are, you must at least be old enough to remember when King Danel's fortunes turned."
 
"Of course, sir. The day Prince Aqhat died."
 
"Yes, a tragedy that. He was a man of barely twenty."
 
"It was terrible for everyone. Not just the royal family, but the people in the kingdom, too."
 
"I've heard the stories. That Aqhat's death brought drought and famine to the entire realm. But how could the events be related?"
 
"They couldn't," she said. "No-one can make any sense of it."
 
"Yet they are connected, aren't they?"
 
"If so, no-one understands why."
 
"I do."
 
"You, sir?"
 
"Would you like to hear a story, Paghat? As a Ugarite, I think you'll appreciate it."
 
She paused for a moment, a look of deep concern washing over her.
 
"All-right," she said, reluctantly.
 
"The circumstances of the prince's death were brought about at a feast not unlike this one."
 
"Yes, there was a royal banquet the day before. The whole city was talking about it."
 
"But you don't know who attended, do you?"
 
"The rulers of Tyre were there. Everyone knew that."
 
"No, my dear, I'm not referring to them. In fact, I'm referring to only one guest in particular, who the prince made the mistake of offending."
 
"Who?"
 
"Prepare yourself for my answer. Your inclination will be to dismiss it."
 
"All-right. Who did the prince offend?"
 
"Anat."
 
And with that, Paghat burst out laughing.
 
"The war goddess?"
 
"The same."
 
"A grand joke, sir. I confess you had me fooled."
 
"No ruse, milady. Anat appeared to the prince."
 
"You actually mean this!"
 
"I do indeed."
 
"But why?"
 
"He had something she wanted. A gift, they say, from the famous craftsman, Kothar-wa-Khasis."
 
"Who is also believed to be a god."
 
"I have no reason to doubt it."
 
"What did the prince have that she wanted so badly?"
 
"A bow made of solid gold. She was willing to trade for it, and handsomely, but he rejected everything she offered."
 
"With all due respect, sir, the prince was killed by a hawk during a hunting trip. It's common knowledge in the city."
 
"I'm sure it is. But how difficult would it be for the war goddess to arrange that?"
 
"It wouldn't, I suppose. If I believed it."
 
"I speak the truth."
 
"But how would you know this?"
 
"You've already seen what I know. You're in the midst of it. The estate, the castle, the provisions. A thousand-fold more than any commoner in a thousand other realms. They're nothing but trinkets to my benefactor. Or benefactress, as the case may be."
 
"Anat is your benefactress?"
 
"She is indeed. As a point of fact, I believe she's delivered something else to me on this very day. And I mean to take it now."
 
He rose from his chair with menace.
 
Paghat's face remained expressionless, though, to Yatpan's utter dismay.
 
"Did you hear what I said, milady?"
 
"Indeed. Do you wish me to run?"
 
"I mean to claim you. And to dispose of you when I'm finished. So yes, dear, running would be most appropriate for you now."
 
"I've heard that," she said. "I was told that's what you like."
 
Yatpan stood there seething, then attempted to speak again. 
 
"Are you mad?" he asked, incredulously.
 
"Far from it, milord. But I don't believe you finished your story. You said that Anat arranged for the prince's murder, but you left out an important detail. You never mentioned the name of the real killer."
 
"The only murder you need worry about is your own!"
 
He sprang toward her, but was taken down hard with a leg sweep that seemed to be almost effortless. His intended victim didn't even trouble herself enough to leave her chair.
 
"Please," she beckoned, "let's finish our discussion."
 
Stunned and injured, the rogue could only grimace as he lay on the concrete floor.
 
"Let me see if I can reach the conclusion by myself," she said, finally standing and turning toward him. "The hawk that killed Prince Aqhat was you, transformed by the war goddess to do her bidding. The life that you've been enjoying these many years is precisely what you said: payment in full for services rendered."
 
"Who are you?" Yatpan gasped.
 
"A fair question," she replied, her voice now resonating with confidence, superiority even, far removed from the dulcet tone of the timid waif she'd pretended to be before. "Forgive the deception, Yatpan, but I needed to be sure my information was accurate. Now that I am, we can finish this."
 
"Who are you?" he demanded again, rising unsteadily back to his feet.
 
"Let me show you," she said.
 
And with that, Paghat unfastened the chord at the waistline of her robe, sliding effortlessly out of the garment. Her rich blond hair emerged from behind the hood, falling around her shoulders and spilling down her back.
 
The first thing Yatpan saw was her headband. Forged of white gold, it bore the insignia of the House of Danel.
 
"No," he whispered, an icy chill running down his spine.
 
"Yes, villain. Justice has come for you today, in the form of the crown princess of Ugarit, sister of the fallen Aqhat, and daughter of Great King Danel. With his full knowledge and blessing, I may add."
 
Yatpan's heart was in his throat. Paghat, who had clearly been taught to fight, had arrived in Latakia prepared for battle. 
 
Her gleaming white armor was striking, both in its functionality and capacity for distraction.
 
Though her neckline, shoulders, and midriff were uncovered, a steel chest piece cupped over her bosom. The strap that held it in place wrapped horizontally around her sides below the axillae, and across the middle of her naked back. The top half of her arms were exposed, as well, but metal bands below the bend at the elbows protected her forearms and wrists. 
 
Her panties extended downward to her groin area in a perfectly formed V-shape. To the left of the beltline was the scabbard that contained her sword. The top of her legs remained bare, but another set of steel bands beneath the kneecaps kept her calves and ankles well-covered.
 
The result was an ensemble allowing Paghat a full range of motion to strike, while providing her a modicum of protection. 
 
Momentarily distracted by her beauty, even in his terrified state, Yatpan narrowly avoided decapitation as the princess drew her weapon and took a vicious swipe at the side of his neck. He turned and fled, upending a chair behind him in a feeble effort to slow her down.  
 
Sweat began to fly from his brow as he raced toward the armory. Paghat kept him in her sights as she pursued him, her steps light and purposeful.
 
Yatpan entered the cavernous room and ran to the back, hastily grabbing a large sparth from the assortment of bladed weapons mounted on the wall. He turned toward his assailant with nary a second to spare, using the ax to block another strike that surely would have destroyed him. 
 
His effort, though, merely delayed the inevitable, for Paghat wielded her sword as well as any warrior that had ever come before. With a seething hatred now given way to an outpouring of unbridled rage, she unleashed a furious barrage against her foe, easily knocking the ax from his hands.  
 
A final swipe caught Yatpan on the chest as he tried to recoil, the devastating flesh wound leaving the mercenary laying in a pool of his own blood. He tried to crawl, but couldn't even move. Paghat now stood above him, the battle all but won.
 
"Any final words, villain?"
 
"Please, please," he stammered, but the princess only smiled.
 
"I'll show you every bit of the mercy you extended to my brother, and undoubtedly countless others."
 
She raised the sword above her head and prepared to deliver the deathblow, but then a new presence entered the fray.
 
"Stop!" demanded a voice from the corner of the armory. Paghat whirled, but saw nothing at all. 
 
The smell of perfume then filled the chamber, and a small plume of smoke gathered in the air. 
 
Paghat watched the scene unfold before her. As the fog began to dissipate, she could make out the form of a woman emerging from its depths. A few moments later, the veil had lifted, and the princess stood face-to-face with her. 
 
The raven-haired beauty smiled gleefully. She loved making an entrance. Clad all in black, with a form-fitting sleeveless mini dress, thigh-high boots, and gloves extending to her elbow, she looked Paghat over with the most piercing green eyes the young warrior had ever seen.
 
"Hello, your highness," the sorceress said. "It's good to meet you at last."
 
"Anat, I take it," the princess replied.
 
"Indeed. I've been watching your exchange with Yatpan here. I'm very impressed with the ease in which you dispatched him."
 
"Kill her!" the fallen man cried, with an anguished howl.
 
"Silence, dog!" Anat responded, and Yatpan meekly obeyed.
 
"I'm glad to meet you too, witch," Paghat chimed in. "After all, your pathetic servant was merely the instrument of my brother's demise. His real killer now stands before me."
 
"Be careful, young one. My forbearance has its limits."
 
"As Aqhat could no doubt attest to. If he was here."
 
"You humans are fascinating creatures. Reckless, foolish, and frail, yet with a capacity to love one another so deeply. Intriguing."
 
"I'm not here to be studied by you. I came to pay a debt. Since killing you is impossible, unfortunately, either strike me down or stand aside and let Yatpan and I finish our business."
 
The war goddess stood unmoving, but a pensive look came across her face.
 
"Suppose," she said, "there was another way?"
 
"There is no other way," the princess replied. "You've taken everything from me. My brother, the realm, and my father's heart along with it. I've resolved to do whatever is necessary to seek redress, insofar as it's even possible. All that leaves me is Yatpan. One of us will not leave here alive."
 
"As I said, reckless. Dramatic, though, I'll grant you that. But tell me, before you force me to snuff out your life, what harm is there in hearing what I have to offer?"
 
"Ah yes, one of Anat's heralded offers. Like the ones you made to Aqhat before you murdered him. And over what? A bow. A bow! Tell me, war goddess, what in your history suggests that I should listen to a single word that passes from your lips?"
 
For a moment, Anat said nothing, but then looked at the princess severely.
 
"The fact that I can grant you the one thing your heart truly desires: the restoration of your brother's life."
 
"You lie!"
 
"You doubt my power?"
 
"I doubt your sincerity. Why would you come to me with this after seven years?"
 
"Perhaps I needed some time to reflect."
 
"While Aqhat lay cold in the ground, and the kingdom lay in ruins."
 
"You humans have such a limited conception of time. I suppose it's understandable, though, given your absurdly short lifespan. Still, your brother would be in the prime of his life, were he reborn. Your father is still alive, and would welcome his son's return. And what of King Danel's subjects? Are they not worth considering what I propose?"
 
Paghat did not respond.   
 
"Good," Anat said. "I'm heartened to see you're capable of putting your anger aside, if only for a moment."
 
"Why do you make this offer?" the princess asked evenly. "You're not going to tell me you feel guilty for the accursed deed?"
 
"Gods don't deal in guilt, my dear. Perhaps, though, I do feel some sympathy for you. Perhaps it's only pity. What difference does it make, if it gives you what you want?"
 
"It doesn't," she retorted. "What do you propose?" 
 
"The decision to bring your brother back is not one that I make lightly. Indeed, there will be a cost. A small portion of my power will be gone forever. Still, I extend you the offer."
 
"And what do you want in return? I have no golden bow to give you. As you're no doubt aware, it was destroyed in the attack."
 
"Yes, a pity that. It was truly a fine piece of craftsmanship. Kothar outdid himself."
 
"So what do you want?"
 
"I ask you only this: abandon your quest of vengeance, and leave my servant in peace. By sparing Yatpan, the prince will live, as well."
 
"Oh, thank you, thank you," Yatpan murmured from the floor.
 
"Silence!" she ordered again.
 
Paghat glanced back at the pathetic mercenary, then turned to Anat, perplexed.
 
"Who is he to you," she asked, "that he'd be worth a part of your power?"
 
The sorceress, too, gazed down at her fallen champion.
 
"He's no-one," she responded. "Another minion, whose value is rapidly dwindling. Still, the scales must be balanced. A life for a life. In exchange for Yatpan, I offer you your brother back. And with his rebirth, the end of the drought and famine that have plagued your father's realm."
 
"But what does Aqhat have to do with –"
 
"Your sibling is far more powerful than anyone is aware. And so are you, in fact. Perhaps you could find out together. But the decision is yours alone."
 
Paghat paused for a moment, weighing Anat's potential for treachery against what she claimed to be offering.
 
"All-right," the princess said. "I accept your terms."
 
Unknown to Paghat, though, Yatpan, despite his injuries, had recovered enough of his faculties for a final, desperate move. Rising from the ground abruptly and grabbing the ax, he lunged toward the princess from behind her, raising the weapon to strike.
 
"No!" the war goddess exclaimed. 
 
With a wave of her hand, Yatpan fell dead.
 
For the first time since arriving at the castle, Paghat appeared visibly shaken.
 
"Why?" she asked, beginning to sob.
 
"My rewards to my servants are manifold. But disobedience is never tolerated. In attacking you after we'd struck our bargain, Yatpan outlived his usefulness."
 
"And now without him, our deal is voided, isn't it? Aqhat remains in the ground, and the people in the realm continue to suffer. If a life for a life is what you demand, take mine, so the rest may be spared!"
 
Anat looked at the brave young woman, more intrigued than ever. Her anger aside, everything Paghat had done had indeed been motivated by love. 
 
Though loathe to admit it, a twinge of regret came over the war goddess for all she'd set in motion.
 
"Your offer is rejected," she said. "Our original bargain remains intact." 
 
"I don't understand," said the princess, wiping away a tear. "I thought you told me –"
 
"You pledged not to kill Yatpan, and you didn't. I did. Appropriate enough. He was mine to do with as I pleased."
 
"And Aqhat?"
 
"Return to the field where your brother died. I have no doubt you know it well. Even as we speak, his life forces begin to gather. By the time you reach him, he will be physically restored. By tomorrow, he will be as you remember him, his mind and spirit fully intact."
 
Paghat paused for a moment, unsure of what to say. Thanking Anat after all the suffering she'd caused would hardly have been appropriate. But if what she said was true, the sorceress had at least returned what she'd stolen, and in doing so made a measure of restitution.
 
"Your mission is finished," Anat said. "Go."
 
With a nod, Paghat turned and left, walking the length of the corridor and exiting the door at the front. Once outside, her eyes were again drawn skyward. The ashen haze that had hung over the region in perpetuity since Aqhat's passing was now beginning to lift, the first rays of sunlight she had seen in seven years peering through the cracks in the clouds. 
 
The dark skies would return in the days ahead, but only long enough to bring her people the rains they desperately longed for.
 
Reaching the bottom of the cobblestone road, Paghat strode toward the adjacent field leading back to Ugarit. The lush grass was warm beneath her feet. Taking a final glance at the castle, she turned and headed for home. 
 
With so much time already lost, she hadn't a moment to waste. Her pace began to quicken, her heart full at the prospect of reuniting with her brother, and the restoration of fortune to her father's realm.  

__________________________________________________________________________

Formats: Paperback, E-book

Publication date: 6/22/2021

Publisher: ARZONO Publishing

ISBN: 9780996808842

Editor: Stella Samuel

Authors: 45 contributors

Cover image: Jonas Steger of Fantasy and Coffee Design