Warsinger by James Baldwin (most important books of all time txt) 📕

consider this: is there is anything more honest in this world than a dead man?”

“That is true.” Davri absently picked at her bottom lip, flicking her dead snake's eyes from Suri to me and back. “In that case, I will test your knowledge. I want to know if I am truly what I believe myself to be: the most direct and legitimate descendant of Sachara, the rightful heir of Dakhdir, and the mother of my people. You are... were... reputed to know all of the lineages that descended from the Imperial Court of the Old Kingdom?”

“I do.” The shadow bowed again.

Davri lifted her gaze to the ceiling. “We have a strong oral history in my family, Sage Mehkhet, a history spanning fifty generations. We know that the earliest iteration of our family name was Ha'Shazir. We do, in fact, trace back to the fourth daughter of Sachara. Do you know who that was?”

“Lavinya Ha'Shazir,” Mehkhet rasped. “She was Sachara's most trusted general in the Early Old Kingdom, otherwise known as the Age of the Elephant.”

“Indeed.” Davri seemed pleased for the first time I'd seen her now that she was talking about her favorite subject: herself. “Now, we know that until about the sixteenth generation hence, when the Khemmemu nomads invaded and overthrew the Ha'Shazir Dynasty, our surname changed from Ha'shazir to Ha'Fadi, and then later on, to Ha'Fadir. So, based on that lineage, would you say I am the most direct heir alive today?”

It was strange, but I had a distant sense of Mehkhet's emotions. The undead didn't feel fear or anxiety, but he had something close to it - an urgency to tell the truth. The truth, in this instance, was that Davri was a creepy degenerate and Suri was more closely related. But even though he had free will, it was still subordinate to mine, and I wanted him to tell Davri what she wanted to hear.

Mehkhet rested the tips of his fingers together. “I should need to compare some records to validate your oral history, but if it is true, then absolutely, my queen. You would, in fact, be the most direct descendant of Sachara.”

Davri beamed. It was not a pleasant expression.

“Wonderful,” she sighed, leaning on the arm of her lovely wood and gold chair. “Because everything I just told you was absolute utter bullshit.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“In fact...” Davri's gaze slid back to Suri, and lingered there. “The most direct descendant of Sachara is my little sister. And I know that for certain, because the Architects who created her are standing right behind you.”

Chapter 41

Suri went rigid. Karalti gasped. Vash immediately turned, but neither he or I, with my wraparound vision, could see anything... until the air shimmered, and the oddest pair of men I'd ever seen stepped out of thin air.

The one the right was gigantic: large enough he had to stoop to fit inside the doorway. He was built like some incel guy's ideal of masculinity, all chest and arms and abs, with a face so hard-cut it was polygonal. He dwarfed everyone and everything in the room, especially the guy next to him. The Hulk's companion was no taller than Rin, skinny and wiry, with a thick mop of black curly hair. He had big, watery brown eyes, but was fundamentally good-looking... except for the cringing air of cowardice that hung around him like a bad smell. Both of them wore spellgloves.

Suri’s nostrils flexed, and her eyes blazed with heat as she reached for her sword.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.” The big one leered down at us, but he only had eyes for Suri. “Long time no see, Princess.”

I took a step forward, teeth bared. The smaller guy – Jacob, pulled a dagger that looked just like the sword the assassin had tried to permakill us with. Vash caught my shoulder and pulled me back.

Davri yawned. “So, yes. I am not descended from anyone special, really. There were many, many tens of thousands of our people, the Aga, now known as the Fireblooded, brought to this world as slaves. Sachara was but one of those Aga. Exceptional in some ways, mediocre in others. There is no reason for me to claim heritage from her, except to motivate the fools who imagine her dynasty as some 'Golden Age'... but to do that, I have to put on a convincing act.”

Even Mehkhet seemed taken aback. “The lineage you listed was correct. Well-researched...”

“Of course it is,” Davri snapped. “I am the smartest person in this stupid little city and have been for my entire life, which is why you are dead and I am not.”

“You claim to know where Sachara's tomb is. Was that a lie?” The sage was bristling now, the shadow-stuff that made up his body coiling and bubbling with rage.

“No. That is true.” Davri got to her feet and stretched. “And what is also true is that the vault containing all of Sachara's treasures can only be opened by one of her blood... a ritual I will have to perform if I am to command the loyal legions of revolutionaries clamoring for someone other than the pathetic excuse for a Sultir we endure. But, no one said that blood had to be mine.”

“You got no idea what you just handed me.” Suri’s voice was low, calm and level. “You know none of you are leaving this room, don't you?”

“You've gotten really full of yourself, little girl,” the big guy - Nicolas, I was guessing - boomed out in a broad Californian accent tinged with something East of Europe. “We’re Architects. We made this world. We made you, and we’ll kill you.”

“Yeah! You’d think the assassin would have been enough warning!” Jacob said. He had a high-pitched, sniveling voice.

Suri’s eye twitched. “That assassin that attacked Hector and Karalti was meant for me?”

Karalti stiffened at the same time I did.

“Holy shit. He attacked us in the duchess suite, didn't he?” I said to her. “He thought- “

“-That Suri would be