“What?”
“You must keep your promise. It was our agreement from the very beginning.”
“Oh, that promise. So, now you heard how Zeria died. And one question remains, for me to answer to Evagus, and maybe everyone else.
“Do I believe? Do I believe?
“But let me ask you first, Eusebius, now that it’s all over. Do you still believe? In that god with the red-rimmed eyes and the one wooden leg? The God of Vanaan?
“But you won’t answer me. So, let me tell you a truth, the parting one.
“I believe.
“I believe in God. Your god, mine, his, his, all of them.
“I was born in the cauldron of the witches and marked with their curses since birth. I grew up to spit on all the prophecies, but now that I’ve come to my end I believe them all. More than ever.
“I believe in the Lord. I believe in Enaka. I believe in all their Legends.
“Because even if they are self-serving myths, even if they are conjured by false witches, and hallucinating monks, you see, I see, if many ears hear them many times, if countless mouths utter them each night, then our lips will blow breath and purpose onto them. And the young will listen to the prophecies and offer their iron muscles and their pumping hearts. And so, the words of the gods gather strong bones, flesh, and blood. And like that, they come alive and find us.”
XCIV.
The Seven
Island of the Holy Monastery, Thirty-Sixth Summer.
According to the Monk Eusebius
It is the coldest moment of the night when Selene spills a silver river of tears into the dark sea. The stars run away at the far edges of the sky, blinded by the radiant maiden. I look at them without words through the open window. A soft fresh breeze blows through to the library so that our stories won’t suffocate us.
Agathon and Rufinus knocked on the door to bring tidings:
“No sign of the pirate ship yet. We’re still repairing ours, but we’ll be done by morning,” said Agathon. “Then we load the gold.”
“Go now,” said Da-Ren.
“Care to help us?”
“We’re not finished here. Have everyone gather down at the jetty, ready to sail west. The children will get in first. All of them. Rufinus, make sure that they bring any armor, swords, bows, oil for fire, whatever you have, up to the towers. Run, Rufinus, run, Agathon, or else I’ll keep the two of you here tomorrow.”
As Da-Ren was ordering and pushing them, he looked younger than I remembered him, a man born for war. His wrinkles and his scars became signs of hope for us all, not pain. The two men left, and Da-Ren returned to his bench next to the bookstand, the seat I had occupied for seven long days.
“And with those words, indeed the last the same as the first, I complete the manuscript,” I said, reiterating that the scribing was my deed. “We have delivered to you, Elders, the final chapter.”
“You delivered blasphemy!” said the First Elder, pointing to Da-Ren. “Referring to our Lord in the same sentence as the false pagan goddesses.”
“We must be more careful of the language Da-Ren chose at the end, for it could make the entire text read like a parody, yet I believe we’ll have time to adjust the ending to an acceptable version,” said Evagus.
“You’ll have a hard time doing that,” said Zeev.
Nagpaal was just shaking his head in what could be disappointment or denial. He was the one who had requested that Da-Ren read the last chapter, so everyone turned their eyes on him.
“So? What do you say?” asked Zeev.
“I wouldn’t choose the words blasphemy or parody. Mockery I think is the right word in this tongue. A mockery of us all, the listeners.”
“What do you mean?” I asked him. That funny-looking, flappy-eared monk was infuriating me more with every word he uttered.
“I wonder what happened to you, Eusebius?” asked Nagpaal. “Did you prove weak? An incompetent chronicler? Or were you simply too afraid to ask?” He then turned to the others. “My friend, Evagus, you of all the Elders must realize that those men have been lying for the past seven days. Their story doesn’t make sense. Does anyone else see it?” asked Nagpaal.
A silent fury was slowly brewing inside me. I had waited for seven days for a sign of praise from those men, and all this emaciated figure had offered was that my story was false and didn’t make sense.
Da-Ren chose to hide in the darkest corner of the library, and the rest of the monks stood silent.
“I do!” said Nathan.
“How dare you?” I said. “You do what?”
“Yes, yes, come forward! Tell us what you see, young man,” said Nagpaal, gesturing to the boy to come closer to the table where we were all seating. “What is that doesn’t make sense to you?”
“The beginning! And, and…” Nathan hesitated.
How did he dare, right in my face? What was wrong with the beginning? If anything, I had worked on those chapters more than any of the rest.
“Yes! The beginning. A man arrives at the Castlemonastery, four years ago, to redeem the lives of his wife and daughter.”
“An infidel,” said Zeev.
“You see it too,” said Nagpaal pointing at the bulky man. “He carries a jar, so you said, Eusebius. Didn’t you?”
“Yes. A jar of honey. Why?”
“Honey! You never mentioned that before,” said Nagpaal, then turning back to Nathan. “And what else, Nathan? Don’t be afraid, we must unearth the truths before dawn,” said Nagpaal.
“The beginning and the end.”
“And the end! We don’t know the end. We got a glimpse of it, yet I feel there is something else. For all we suffered for seven days in here, the end…the end is weak.”
“The end is weak?” I asked.
“We still ask questions, Eusebius. That means, the end was not satisfying,” said Zeev.
“Of course! Because the beginning doesn’t fit the end!” A cheerful Nagpaal was on his feet smiling and gesticulating.
“I thought men of your order don’t go for such theatrics,” said Baagh.
“You’re right, Evagus. But I am in foreign lands now, so I can do whatever I please. ‘And the end,’ said the young man. Do you see it too, Evagus?”
“I heard the end. Dawn is coming fast, and the pirates will be here. And that would be our end.”
“Oh yes, you heard the end. And no. I think you chose to hear an end that fits the purpose of your mission. The end that Thalassopolis can stomach. But we must hear the whole truth. The truth saves, Da-Ren.”
“Were you not satisfied by the truth?” I asked. “Didn’t he reveal that Zeria is indeed dead?”
“What happened to that urn, Da-Ren?” asked Nagpaal.
Da-Ren’s voice trembled. I hadn’t heard him tremble for a long time; not since that first year of reciting the events.
“I took the urn with me on the boat. When we got to the open sea, after Thalassopolis, I emptied it.”
“Eusebius never asked you that, did he?”
He scattered her ashes into the blue waters. He didn’t throw them into the Black Sea.
I raised my voice: “He knows that Zeria is dead. We don’t need to torture him a thousand times. He can’t say the words aloud.”
“I never saw her dead. She was beautiful when I last kissed her,” said Da-Ren.
“He couldn’t tell anything more to Eusebius,” said Baagh. “You did well, Da-Ren. Some lies are sweet.”
“Yes, he never brought that urn here,” I said. “He is not lying.”
He brought a dark-green jar instead, and he was holding it like a baby when he climbed the steps.
“Da-Ren saved the children of Lenos. Thousands of children. That is what we must all acknowledge and grant him forgiveness, so he may finally find peace,” said Baagh.
“Is that what you want the Emperors to remember, Baagh? How you convinced me to save the children of Lenos? That is one of the truths,” answered Da-Ren.
“No
t the whole truth,” repeated Nagpaal.
“The children,” I mumbled.
Nagpaal cut his gaze sharply toward me as I uttered the word.
“The truth saves, Da-Ren. What is that you are not telling us?” asked Nagpaal.
“Seven days I’ve been listening to you. In and out I go, seven days and nights.” The words came from Rufinus, who had his back turned toward us and was busy at the library shelves. He paused as if he expected a question from us but everyone was too surprised to ask him anything, so he continued mumbling. “What are you searching for? This story, this story, it was always about that. From the first chapter to the last word.” He had been going in and out all night carrying codices to safety. He hadn’t bothered to say even a word till now.
“About what?” asked the First Elder.
“Children! That’s all I hear every time I come in here. Children!”
And right then, as if struck by the divine radiance of wisdom, I know. A light illuminates my mind, the light of truth, its flame glowing and becoming stronger until it consumes me and burns my heart. And then darkness and cold.
It is now very late in the night, and the wind has chilled me to the marrow. Not even my cassock or my waning faith can bring me warmth. That same chill has returned, the one that had wrapped around me the first night Da-Ren had arrived, holding the jar of honey, the chill around my ribs and my heart that makes me shiver from head to toe. Only my cheeks burn. Why do I hear the same word over and over again? I turn to the young monk, who is trying to arrange the codices back into the cedar trunk. Next to it, there is a second trunk with the crypton manuscript. I hope to convince Agathon to load it on the boat, and then I’ll bury it on Foleron Island rather than abandon it at the Castlemonastery.
“Open that trunk, Nathan,” I order him.
“Are you sure?” says Nathan. “You told me to keep it sealed.”
“Open it! And bring me those tallow candles,” I say. “We have enough to spare tonight. Light them all up!”
“This is no time for candles, or more tales, Eusebius. Let’s get out of here,” replies the First Elder.
“Where do you want to go, First Elder, in the black of the night?” I say. “All of them, Nathan. Let’s bring some strong light in here. And those oil lamps. Tomorrow they will be useless.”
I push him to make haste.
We light six candles, and I arrange them around the trunk as I kneel next to it.
“Oh, the light is so beautiful,” says Nagpaal. “Who can deny it? Not the one who stayed blind for four years!”
Dawn will not be long now. I take a candle and find the very first chapter. The first ink I spilled. The First Elder ignores us, and he gets up to leave.
I read.
From this point on, only the demons. Not even the gods will listen anymore.
Oh God, forgive me, but I must.
“What happened to Aneria, Da-Ren?”
The First Elder stops before walking out the door.
“There is no one named Aneria. I made it up—”
“Yes, to name your daughter. The one whom Zeria didn’t want you to know. You told me.”
Da-Ren turns his gaze to the monks, but he steps back away from them. He stumbles. It can’t be the wine or the chill; something else has gotten to him. His eyes are watery, his hand trembles. He pleads:
“Sorcerers, I will beg you one last time. If you can grant me a miracle, do so now. I ask for one life. I saved thousands of children in Lenos. Baagh admitted it too.”
Children. The same word that has tormented me all night long.
“What I will read now is a passage from the crypton manuscript. It includes all the events at Hieros. The chapters we skipped these last seven days,” I say.
I read the first page of my manuscript:
“I am here to redeem the lives of my wife and daughter. I’ve brought the offering.”
Those were the first words of Da-Ren, the man who would become my brother, hero, nightmare, savior, and my life’s only story. He knelt and offered me an earthenware jar. Only moments earlier, he had crashed through the main cedar gate…
A dark-green jar, filled with honey. I remember it like an ancient ghost.
“Did you take the jar, Evagus? Did you open it?” I ask.
I am now the only one speaking, and not getting any answers.
“Baagh?”
He looks at me with silent rage.
Does he know?
“What happened to the six children that Zeria was raising with Aneria, Da-Ren?”
Nagpaal remains serene with hands crossed on his lap, while Zeev and the First Elder are trying to fight their weariness and follow my questions.
“What was in the jar, Da-Ren?” I ask.
“I did what Baagh told me to. I brought the offering. I told him that first afternoon I arrived.”
“What are you trying to do, Eusebius?” asks Zeev.
Out in the courtyard, the bell of our church tolls four times.
“Nathan, bring the codex from that first time Da-Ren crossed the Thousand Island Sea. When he first saw Hieros. It’s titled Seven Lives. I recall it must be Chapter LXV.”
It takes him some time to find it.
What I wrote here the first time are the words of Da-Ren and Baagh as they cross from Antia to Thalassopolis with Agathon’s boat.
I read it again:
“What is the ultimate sacrifice, Baagh? What do these gods of yours ask for at the Castlemonastery to grant me eternal life?”
…
“They ask for your life seven times before you earn the gift of eternal life.”
“I don’t understand. They ask for seven what?”
“Seven lives, seven souls, seven loves, seven innocents, seven hearts, seven times… Only by dying seven times, going through seven hells and rebirths, will you be able to comprehend the meaning of eternal life. You will be invincible after you have passed through it seven times…”
“What was in the jar, Da-Ren?”
Zeev stands up from the bench and is pacing slowly away from us to the window and back again. He knows too.
“What happened at the Wolfhowl?”
Da-Ren steps farther back; his figure disappears entirely into the darkness next to the library shelves.
“The children, Da-Ren. Tell me.”
Nathan places a candle on the shelf, and we can see Da-Ren. He is on the floor kneeling, curled up and rocking back and forth. He shakes with silent sobs, but he won’t speak.
“What happened at the Wolfhowl, Da-Ren?”
He gets up and grabs me with both hands by the cassock; he’ll kill me. Tears are running down his cheeks, and he grunts, unable to speak. Baagh holds him back and manages to get him to sit on the bench.
And then as Da-Ren succumbs to the weight of the truth, he manages to lift his head and one word alone, one whisper, escapes his mouth.
“Wooden.”
“What?”
“They gave them wooden swords.”
Stuttering and sobbing, the truth barely reaches my ears. I repeat it louder so that all can hear.
“What are you saying, you madman? Stop for God’s sake!” shouts Baagh. “Don’t listen to him; he’s delirious!”
This story will never reach the Emperor. Satan stole it along the way.
The truth burns; it consumes even Evagus the Wise who stands defeated.
Dawn will not be long now.
“Did they bring the children to the Wolfhowl, Da-Ren?”
He takes a breath. He finds some of his words.
“How many Ssons could I kill? No one had ever killed one.”
“They never gave you seven puppies to fight against the Ssons and the seven dogs.”
“No!”
He loses his breath again. He chokes. I’ll wait; I’ve waited a thousand nights.
“No, not puppies. They’d never seen so many people before. They weren’t afraid when they brought them in. One of the girls asked me about Z
eria. ‘We’ll find her soon,’ I told her. I’ll take you to her.”
“They brought all seven children in the arena with you? Aneria too?”
“They weren’t naked and grimy like us in the Sieve. Zeria always kept clean clothes for them. They got scared only when they heard the maulers from the far side of the Wolfhowl, when they saw them approaching, the Rods holding the chains. But still, they didn’t guess. They were seven winters young. I had already killed one Sson. Blue, the strongest of them. Or that’s what I remember. Crazygrass…”
“Tell me! From the beginning.”
“The beginning, yes. Where did I stop? Yes! I killed Blue. I did, I am pretty sure I did. And then she walks up to me; she kisses me. She weeps.”
“Aneria?”
“No, no! Her! Sah-Ouna. Her lips touch my cheek. She whispers the words:
“‘Victory, Da-Ren! Victory is yours.’
“‘Victory!’ I just repeat the word, knees trembling, arm bleeding.
“‘Victory has a heavy price, my son.’
“She places the bow and the quiver at my feet. Why? Why the bow? Is it a gift for me? I stand there not knowing what to do. I hear young voices behind me. A girl calls my name. I don’t want to turn, but she shouts it louder. Children. I turn to look, I barely make half a turn, and my eyes burn with poison. Seven children. They are completely unsuspecting, not tied or beaten; they just walk to the center of the arena, surrounded by unarmed Reghen and Ouna-Mas. They join the celebration of my victory.
“‘No, no, go back. Not this,’ I mumble.
“Thousands of my tribesmen up on the stands wave their red cloths and cheer for my victory. The children cheer as they recognize my face. They raise their small fists to salute me too. Skullface and the seven Rods with the maulers get closer. More Rods are nocking arrows and aiming at me.
“Sah-Ouna she speaks her words: ‘Sacrifice, my son. I know, it hurts. You may aim the arrows at the maulers, the Rods, even me. You kill some more, then you die, and the children will know. The Rods will bring more dogs. And the children will suffer and scream. An unbearable spectacle. Unworthy of Goddess or warrior. Or father. Unworthy of a Tribe betrayed. You decide. She demands sacrifice. Not murder. No more. Honor the Goddess. Silence the screams.’ She backtracks, her palm raised in a farewell sign, and slips behind the Rods.
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