Mathayus, the young man kneeling next to him, grasping his frail hand, felt as if he’d been slapped. His grandfather, the dying man, was the oldest of their diminishing tribe, and had been sick for a long time. It was a sign of his position that tribal council, the ruling body in the absence of a Chieftain, had let him live to this state. Akkadians abhorred the weak and useless. As most Akkadians died in battle, elderly were rare, and not looked upon with much else then distain. Othias, the dying man, was once a great Chieftain, yet it had been his son that led their people to war with the other desert tribes, depleting their number to such a degree as it was now. Othias had taken back his throne when his son was killed in battle, as his son, Mathayus, was still too young, and had succeeded in making a tentative peace. The peace however, was not felt in the heart of any Akkadian, nor those of their enemies. Skirmishes still broke out along the borders of their territory, but, thanks to generations of training, an Akkadian hardly ever lost a fight. This did not do much for their relations with the other tribes, and tension was always tight. The people were grateful to Othias, and so, when the great sickness swept that Akkadian tribe finally caught him, they let him live. Now, as the younger and stronger of the tribe fought off the disease, he lay helpless and dying.

Mathayus wanted to reject the man’s words, but he could not. There was no denying that the old man was dying, and no words to comfort him. Although the Akkadian ‘ideal’ was to be so great a warrior that you died unbeaten, growing as old and as sick as this was a fate worse then death, and they both knew it.

"Do not despair for me; I have had a good life. My only regret is not being able to lead our people back to the way we were when I was young. An Akkadian’s word meant something then" he trailed off, then looked into Mathayus’ eyes "That’s your responsibility now."

Mathayus was as stunned by this as he had been by Othias’ declaration of his own mortality. "Grandfather" I-" he wanted to protest, to speak of his youth and low status among the tribe, but arguing with the dying man seemed wrong. He couldn’t force the words out of his mouth. "Yes Grandfather."

"You have it in you to lead them. It won’t be easy, but you have courage and honor; the potential to be a great warrior." Othias squeezed his hand "Argue no more. You will be a great man. A great Akkadian. Live free-"

Mathayus didn’t want to finish the pledge, but knew he had to. In a weak, unfamiliar voice, he said "-die well."

A smile passed Othias’ lips as he took his last breath. His ancient eyes closed, and his life left him.

Mathayus let his head drop to rest on the man’s knuckles, still in his hand. Othias had been more a father to him then his own ever had. He was the one who got him through the ruthless daily training of every Akkadian youth. He’d also instilled in him the old values that were losing their hold over his beleaguered people: those of honor, pride, and strength of character. The generation raised under his father were unlike any other generation had been. They were greedy, accepting any offer to kill any person, no matter what the reason. In these hard times, and Akkadian was as eager to kill an evil man as a good one. As assassination was the lifeblood of the tribe, the one thing they were the absolute masters of, killing had never been a problem, it was a job, but it was not done for pleasure. Barely anyone could stand against an Akkadian, and now they knew it. They grew arrogant. They killed for the sake of killing. For fun. Othias had seen this, and, knowing Mathayus would grow to someday be a Chieftain, had reared him with respect for morality. He’d always said it was a gift from the Gods that it was he, and not his son, who’d raised Mathayus. Mathayus’ values often alienated him from others his age, but he was solitary by nature. All he needed was the guidance of his Grandfather, who, up until this day, he had been sure would live forever.

Now, however, it seemed the world died with Othias. Mathayus laid him on his back, arranging his limbs so that he appeared to be sleeping peacefully with his arms crossed over his chest. Allowing a rare show of affection, even in private, he leaned over the body and kissed Othias’ finally smooth brow.

When he stepped out of the tent, two people were there waiting for him: Cosmia, his sister, and Danoa, the woman destined to be his wife. His sister, with whom he’d never been close, put a comforting hand on his arm as she passed into the tent. After their mother died in childbirth bearing him, an older aunt had raised her, while Othias took charge of him. They saw each other on the training grounds, but other then that, they did not speak. There was a certain bond between them, if only for the shared blood in their veins, but they were not friends. He stood there, feeling for all the world as if he was drowning. He felt a slight pressure on his arm, and looked down into the gentle face of Danoa, his future wife.

After Othias, Danoa was the most trusted person in his life. She always had just the right words, and knew when and when not to use them. They were paired at birth, but theirs was a lucky match. She was his best, perhaps only, friend. Not saying a word, she laced her fingers through his and led him into the building adjacent to the tent he’d just left. This had been Othias’, and Mathayus’, home. As of recently, it had been Mathayus alone living there, as Othias was quarantined to the tent outside. Danoa had, for all intents and purposes, moved in there with him. It wasn’t something they talked about, but she knew he wouldn’t be able to live in the house alone, especially with Othias dying a wall away. The house itself wasn’t huge, just two rooms, but it was larger then anything anyone else had. After the Nubians burned their old city to the ground, they were forced to move deeper into their territory, into the oasis they used to live on the edge of. Every structure in this new, still unnamed, place was roughly made, and not made to last. They’d built what they could so they could live comfortably, with intentions of someday making a real city out of it. This had never, and would never, happen. They just kept improving on what they had, making it more permanent as the months went by.

Danoa stirred the ashes in the firepit, setting a pot filled with water brought from the well earlier that day on a rack over them. Leaving it to boil, she came to Mathayus, who’d sat in one of the three chairs surrounding the table. In this part of the house, the wide-open room at the front, that was all there was: the table, the chairs, a small chest to keep plates and such in, and the firepit. Behind a curtained wall was the other room, where they’d laid down their low beds. She across from him, looking into his despondent, staring eyes.

“Mathayus… I wish I knew what to do for you. What to say.” She grasped one of his hands in both of hers, kissing it.

He looked at their hands, at her face, grateful for her presence there. “Don’t worry about me.”

She shook her head “I love you too much not to.”

“He lived a productive life. He was a good man. He… he died well.” He looked at her face, and knew she understood. She had been raised the same way as he, with the same respect for the old values.

“I know. I loved him too.” She was truthful in that. In the last days of his life, Danoa had taken care of Othias’ everyday needs, something no one else was willing, or able, to do. She was one of the few women who’d taken the extra time to learn to heal more then battle wounds. “I only wish I could have done more for him.”

Mathayus stood, drawing her up with him and wrapping her in a strong embrace. “You did everything you could, and more. In his mind, you were as much his daughter as I was his son.” He felt infinitely more comfortable comforting her then being comforted by her. He was protective of Danoa, he liked taking care of her when he could. It made him feel in control of something, and it took his mind off his own pain. “He told me once that his biggest regret was that he wouldn’t live to see our wedding.”

“Oh Mathayus…” she sobbed, burying her head in his chest, letting him support her. As always, he was amazed at her willingness to do this. She was as strong of mind and body as any other Akkadian women - more so then most, he thought – yet still had a sense of femininity that so many other women had discarded. Just as the men were becoming ever more ruthless, the women, in an effort to keep up, were becoming disdainful of the things that marked them women, wanting to be emotionless killers, just like the men. In the past, women, in addition to their training in the deadly arts, were schooled to be doctors, midwives, and mothers. Lately, women had shunned these things, concentration only on their skills of assassination. As a result, there were fewer and fewer births among their already shrinking number.

Mathayus heard the sound of someone clearing their throat, and looked over to see Cosima standing in the doorway. Danoa quickly stepped out of his arms and dried her eyes. She knew that Cosima didn’t approve of such shows of emotion. Cosima herself had never cried in public, or, for that matter, in private. She also did not like the way Danoa and Mathayus had taken their relationship into their own hands. Though the Tribal Council had not said a thing, and her family had so far turned the other cheek, it was not tradition for a betrothed couple to have loved physically, as Mathayus and Danoa had. And, above all, Cosima kept the customs.

Not coming closer then a few steps inside the door, Cosima said “I have told Adir to begin the pyre. We can cremate him tomorrow morning, before first light.” She nodded to the two of them by way of goodbye, and was about to leave when Mathayus called her back.

“What do you mean? Things can’t be done this fast. There are things we have to do to prepare him. There are ceremonies… we must make a sacrifice to Anubis.” He hadn’t even thought of these official things yet, but the sudden chance that they might not come about made him drag them to attention.

“These are hard time for us all, Mathayus. We have not the time nor the resources to do what you would. He have to hunt all day everyday just to survive, and we cannot waste any of what precious little we have on a sacrifice. We cannot travel freely to Gomorrah because of that treaty Othias made with the Nubians, so business had all but dried up. You know as well as I do that no one is willing to come here to hire us.” Just the way she said his name, completely devoid of warmth, made Mathayus angry “I…” she hesitated, and when she spoke again, her voice was as close as it ever came to warm “I know how much you loved him, and what he was to you. But you know what I’m saying is right. Soon, as soon as you pass your trials, you will be the Chieftain. I’m sure Othias told you that the last person a good Chieftain thinks of is himself. These are the kind of hard choices you’re going to have to make.” She seemed like she wanted to say more, but couldn’t find the words out. She half-turned to leave, but, before she walked out, she said “I am sorry… brother.”

There was heavy silence in the room for a long moment, until Danoa said “She’s right.”

Mathayus didn’t acknowledge her, walking over to close the door that kept the cold wind out, then over the firepit to take off the pot, in which all of the water had boiled away.

Danoa watched him for a moment, than said “She is right, and you know it as well as I do.” She walked past him into the back of the house, gathering a flint and steel to light the few candles about the room. When he followed her, he found her searching through the chest where she kept some of her clothes. She found what she was looking for, the lightweight, translucent sheath she slept in. Without so much as looking at him, she shed the woolen robes she’d worn that day, replacing them with the sheath. As always, Mathayus couldn’t help but admire her lithe shape. She went about the room, blowing out all but one of the candles she’d just lit. Carrying the one with her to the low bed, she lay down, pulling the blanket up to her waist.

Mathayus smiled a little. This was a scene that had played before his eyes a million times. If she was really angry, she’d leave and go back to the home of her family, but this gave him the opportunity to ‘placate’ her. Taking off his lightweight training armor, he laid down next to her under the blanket, laying a strong arm over her. She stayed still at first, but soon softened to his touch. She turned to face him, but did not kiss him. “Not tonight Mathayus. It wouldn’t be right.” She rested her head on his shoulder as he settled on his back, his arm curved around her back. Silently relived, he held her close, taking as much comfort in her closeness as she did in his. As she fell asleep, she murmured “I love you.”

“So, the old bastard is finally dead! Hah!” Dagan laughed, taking another huge gulp of the strong Akkadian ale. Dagan was a huge, gristled man, scarred, both inside and out, from the many battles he’d seen. He had been Mathayus’ father’s most trusted general, and had loved his work. He had always believed Akkadians were the fit rulers of the desert tribes, and, after a Chieftain like Othias, was overjoyed to have a ruler who agreed. He’d been one of the one member of the Tribal Council to vote against Othias regaining his title after his son died. Now he oversaw the training of all Akkadian youths. This night he sat next to the firepit outside his home, drinking and enjoying the night, as he had for years. “I’ve been waiting for this ever since the coward took to his bed!”

Adir, the much smaller man who’d brought Dagan the news, flinched. A coward was the worst possible thing one could call an Akkadian, and to hear someone toss it about so cavalierly was daunting. Adir was already terribly intimidated by Dagan, and would have preferred to be anywhere but by his side. But Dagan had ordered him to bring any news of Othias’ condition to him at once, and he dared not flout Dagan’s wishes. Most of the fighting men scared him a little, as he was physically smaller then all of them, and, though he had the same training as they did, and, if pressed, was just as deadly, he did not like to fight. He had traveled to Cairo before the wars, and had learned all he could about the art of medicine. He was the foremost doctor in the Akkadian tribe; it was he who was teaching Danoa. His time in Cairo was the best in his life, as here, with his people, he wasn’t appreciated for skills, but rather shunned. He was made to do menial work most of the time, such as build Othias’ pyre, which he would do immediately after he left Dagan. Not that he minded. He had secretly loved Othias, but the noble man had been an ambiguous presence in his life, and Dagan was much more present; and much more threatening.

“Now the Akkadians can finally be what we almost were under Amrid!” he said, calling out the name of Mathayus’ father with fervor.

“But what about Mathayus?” Adir asked, shocked at himself for speaking out.

“Mathayus? He’s a boy! He hasn’t passed his trials yet! Until he does, the Council rules the tribe. He’s no threat to me. He’ll never rule.”

“Why not?” Adir, emboldened by his previous success, asked.

“Because!” Dagan roared, jumping to his feet “Because Akkadians aren’t cowards! That boy will lead us farther down the path the submission to the other tribes that Othias started, and I will not follow him!”

“What choice do you have?” Adir asked, taking a few steps away from the suddenly furious man.

“What choice? What choice? By all the Gods, I swear that if it comes down to that boy becoming Chieftain, I will kill him myself!”