Arnulf the Destroyer

by Robert Cely

  Later that night the sacred fire burned. Oron chanted to the smoke that rose up to carry his prayers to the stars – the glittering power of the gods. His eyes had taken on a bleary cast, caused by the Shivuk bark he had inhaled, enabling him to see into the realm of the gods.

  The sober Yodis regarded the shaman only briefly. He had seen the intoxicated ritual enough. Instead, his attention was held by the two supplicants who had made the long trek through the jungle to the sacred place.

  The first was a stooped and wrinkled old woman. Her eyes had been narrowed by a life of work in dark light and bright sun until they were no more than slits in her bunched and swollen face. She regarded the swaying Oron with deep interest. Absently she held a rope tied to a white goat. The animal’s red eyes stared devilishly in the firelight, though dumb to its fate.

  Behind the old lady waited a nervous young woman. Yodis guessed she couldn’t be older than sixteen years. Her wide eyes, filled with fear and wonder, watched the crooning shaman sway under the influence of the strange intoxicants. Yodis happily kept his eyes fixed in her, her nubile beauty made all the more lovely by the cast of orange flame and the expression of naive wonder on her face. Yodis hoped she would look at him but her gaze stayed firmly fixed on Oron.

  “Yodis,” the shaman croaked when his chant completed.

  He gestured to the old woman and Yodis took the rope from her hands. Together they bound the goat and hefted him onto the altar. The animal bleated and struggled against the cords. Oron put a hand on the tensed muscles and hummed something deep and soft. Almost immediately the animal calmed and lay its head down.

  From behind the altar the shaman lifted an obsidian knife while Yodis held out a bowl hammered from rare and precious bronze. Yodis watched the knife in dreaded fascination, awed by the way it seemed to emanate darkness.

  “Father gods! Mother gods!” Oron cried out, holding the knife aloft, his head thrown back. “By your blessing make this blood holy!”

  In one quick motion the shaman pulled up the goat’s head and drew the knife across the exposed throat. From the deep gash a fountain of blood spewed forth and covered the altar. Yodis held the bronze bowl out, catching the blood as it seeped from the sacrificial animal. Strangely, the beast did not struggle. It lay docile as its life drained out.

  Yodis held the bowl in place as the blood over-flowed and covered his hands, spilling onto the stones beneath. Even as he had grown used to the acrid odor of blood he still felt the pull in the back of his throat, his body resisting the smell of death.

  When the shaman determined the white goat was finally dead Yodis laid down the bowl and assisted his master in the butchering. Together they made quick work of the grisly task. The sharp, obsidian knife easily separated the skin from flesh. Yodis laid the skin out carefully and arranged parts as Oron handed them down. The heart, kidney, lungs, guts and bowel, sinew and fat Yodis laid upon the splayed pelt. Oron chanted as he cut the pieces out, blessing each one with holiness. The edible meat was set aside, piled onto a stone step beside the altar.

  As soon as the animal had been cleaned the shaman severed the head and handed it to his apprentice. With careful solemnity Yodis placed the head on the skin next to the pile of sinew, fat and organ. Oron took hold of the stripped skeleton and hurled it out of the sacred place. Tonight, the carrion feeders would feast.

  Silently, Yodis handed the bronze bowl to Oron. The shaman poured blood over the pile of flesh gathered on the goat skin. Then dipping his fingers into the bowl he spread blood over his face, then Yodis’ face. Finally, he walked over to the young woman and drew streaks of blood over her cheeks and forehead.

  Turning, Oron gathered the goat skin and placed it in front of the idol Yana. Yodis took hold of the young woman’s hand, thrilled at the softness of her skin. He guided her to where Oron stood beneath the idol of the fertility goddess.

  “Behold this woman!” Oron cried out, looking up at the voluptuous and swollen idol. “Her womb is barren! For two years many virile warriors have laid in her bed, strong fathers of many sons, yet her stomach does not swell!”

  A twinge of jealousy sparked in Yodis as he listened to the shaman speak. The aroma of the young woman mixed with the smell of blood heightened his desire. How he wished to be one of the warriors she had chosen to lay with.

  “She how beautiful she is!” Oron continued ranting at the marble statue. “See her pleasing shape! Her ample breast!”

  Oron ran his hands over the young woman’s body, highlighting her young and seductive features. He turned her around so the fertility goddess could see all of her.

  “This woman is pleasing to many men!” Oron cried out. “She would bear many strong and able hunters! Many lust after her loins!

  “But you, Yana, are the giver of children! She is beautiful and deserving of your blessing! Bless her womb! Fill it with the fruit of strong men and fertile women!”

  Oron lifted up the goat’s head, dripping in blood. Streams of crimson ran down his arms.

  “Take this sacrifice O fertile Yana,” he cried as he hurled the head into the flames. “Food for you alone!”

  “See this delicious fat!” Oron showed a handful of the dripping fat to the idol before hurling it into the flames, causing a burst of fire and sparks.

  “See this sinew and organ!”

  “See this entrail, delicious and savory!”

  “See this heart, most honored of all the feast foods!”

  Piece by piece the pile of butchered goat went into the fire. The flames leapt up with each handful of fat. Sparks rose into the air, twisting inside the columns of smoke, breathing an aroma to the gods. It suddenly struck Yodis as pitiful that this was all the People had to placate the wild forces of the world.

  Yodis was half asleep when they finally arrived back at the village. The fires had smoldered into the soft glow of coals. Those hunters who, for the night had chosen not to sleep in the Hunter’s Hall dozed soundlessly around the ashes.

  Taking a moment to look around Yodis searched for his father. Papa was not to be seen. Figuring he must be in the Hunter’s Hall Yodis continued on.

  He ducked into his mother’s hut, a place that would be his home until initiation, and quietly set down the portion of meat that was given to him.

  “Is that you Yadi?” Yodis heard his mother whisper, calling him by his baby name.

  “Are you still awake Moma?” Yodis asked, moving over to the corner of the hut where his mother sat.

  “Your brother eats too much,” his mother said. She pulled the baby away from her breast and began to gently rock him.

  Yodis beamed at the little infant. He and the boy were rare, true brothers. Because there was no marriage with the People, hunters competed with one another to gain the favor of lying with a woman for one journey of the moon. This way, at least, the tribe would know who fathered what child.

  Two boys that shared the same mother were womb brothers. If they shared the same father they were called spirit brothers. But on the rare occasion that they shared both father and mother they were called true brothers. And the little infant that his mother held was one such brother to Yodis.

  “Hey there Elyan,” Yodis quietly cooed, stroking the baby’s soft cheek with his finger.

  “He looks like you,” his mother told him. “I think he will grow up to be like his big brother.”

  Yodis frowned, not bothering to hide his disappointment.

  “No, he will be a great hunter,” Yodis told her.

  “You have brought home meat,” his mother reminded him, gesturing to the pile of goat in the corner.

  “It is the meat of old men and children,” Yodis scoffed, using the familiar way that hunters insulted domesticated meat.

  “You will speak to the gods,” his mother told him, reaching out a tender hand.
“You will do things that brave hunters are afraid to do.”

  Yodis didn’t answer. He gazed quietly at the sleeping infant, wondering to himself how to embrace a destiny he didn’t want.

  The next season the rains didn’t fall like they should have. The jungle grew dry. Game became scarce as animals sought water and fresh vegetation elsewhere. The women couldn’t gather as much fruit as they usually did.

  For the moment the tribe was distracted by the upcoming celebration. The in between season, after the wet and before the dry, was the sacred time of year. The People were consumed with excitement and preparation for the feast of Macha, even if the feast would not be as plentiful.

  The feast of Macha was for good reason the most wildly celebrated festival of the village. Marked with feasting and debauchery, the People celebrated the acceptance of new men into the tribe. The older men would make sport of the new ones, who made every effort to win the girl of their choice that night. Unspoken tradition encouraged the more experienced women to make a mockery of the boys, teasing and arousing their desire long into the celebration before finally taking pity and allowing one into their hut for the night.

  Yodis worked with Oron that day to consecrate the village boys with prayers, sacred water, and the blue and red paint to ward off evil spirits. Duly protected their mothers wept as the boys walked into the jungle, expected to return as men.

  After completing this duty Yodis and Oron made their way as the sun set through the jungle to Numa Din. In the sacred place Yodis would endure his own initiation.

  Silently Yodis undressed and stood still as Oron walked around him with a Shivuk branch, whispering special prayers. Then the shaman painted symbols over his naked body. These were special, more powerful than the ones painted on the other boys. It would take powerful magic to see the gods and not be destroyed.

  Oron led his naked disciple to the fire that blazed in the massive pit. He turned Yodis slowly so that he faced one idol, then the next, all the way around the semi-circular wall until he looked at all of the thirteen gods. Tonight, one of the gods would choose him, Yodis would become an acolyte and begin learning the deeper secrets of the shaman’s’s lore.

  A cloud of dust rose up as Oron reached into his pouch and pulled out a handful of the ground Shivuk bark. Yodis squatted and leaned out over the fire. Sparks flew up as Oron cast the dust into the flames. The fire crackled and a red cloud of smoke billowed up.

  Yodis leaned forward and inhaled the musky smoke for the first time. He quickly jerked back in a coughing fit, his lungs protesting the strange smoke.

  Yodis forced himself forward again and breathed in another cloud of the sacred smoke. He inhaled deeply, more prepared for the shock on his system. His body still wracked with a violent cough.

  A third and final time Yodis leaned forward and breathed deeply of the crimson smoke. This time he didn’t cough. He leaned back and held the smoke in as long as he could before exhaling the cloud into the night air.

  He felt the effects almost immediately. The world around him began to spin and dizziness struck him at the same time with a rippling euphoria. It was not an altogether unpleasant sensation except for the sudden disorientation that caused panic to surge through him. Yodis reached out to take hold of something, anything that would offer stability in a world that had become suddenly unstable.

  “Relax,” came the words of Oron from across an impossible distance. “Do not fight the power of the smoke. You must allow it to carry you off.”

  Yodis tried to relax as the spinning in his head increased so much that he had to close his eyes. In the darkness he felt himself being lifted up and pulled out of Numa Din, hurled into the depths of the strange night. Fear begged that he reach out and pull himself back down. Yodis barely resisted the urge and allowed himself to be lifted up higher and higher into the reaches of heaven.

  Only when Yodis finally felt the rising stop did he dare to open his eyes. At first he thought the ritual had failed. He found himself still sitting on the stone floor of the sacred place, the fire blazing warm and powerful in front of him.

  He quickly noticed the change. For one, Oron was gone. Yodis sat alone. He jumped up and looked around, unable to see the forest around him. Instead, the stone space ended in a wall of thick and impenetrable night. Even above him no stars appeared, only the dreadful pall of darkness. The thought struck him that he could not see the stars because now he was among them.

  Movement caught his eye. He stepped back seeing all over the top of the wall the idols stirring to life. No longer covered in stone the gods moved about with features as distinct and real as any man. Yodis moved further away, feeling the eyes of the gods follow him as he moved.

  Without warning a giant hand shot down and snatched up Yodis. Before he knew what was happening he found himself being looked over by the deep and ponderous eyes of Keltis, father god of the dawn and sky. The gaze seemed to search him thoroughly, peering deep into his heart. The elder god leaned in and sniffed at Yodis, then with a bellow tossed him into the air.

  A scream ripped through Yodis’ lips as he was hurled into blackness. Just as he thought he would smash into the ground another giant hand snatched him up and another intense eye looked him over. This time it was the bulging eyes of Laki that inspected him. In the flesh the weird gaze disturbed Yodis even more as he could make out the red veins that stood out on the giant eye. Another sniff and Yodis was tossed into the air again.

  The harrowing ritual continued with Yodis being inspected by the gods, waiting for one to choose him. Throughout the pantheon he was passed, made to suffer beneath many stern and fearful gazes.

  From Cotl he could almost hear the wise ponderings from beneath his deep and furrowed brow. Shota terrified him as her blood-shot eyes searched him over, as if she were appraising the fitness of a meal. Yet none terrified him more than the dark gaze of Sifli, though Yodis could not help but admire her haunting and irresistible beauty. But she too hurled him away and he was caught up by the fertility goddess.

  From Yana emanated the fragrance of a thousand flowers all at once that sent heat pulsing through his loins. She too tossed him aside after looking him over. Falling from there into Yena’s hands, the great earth mother, he looked into what must have been the handsomest face he had ever seen. She quickly threw him to Asher, god of the flame, whose eyes blazed with fire and wrath. Yodis was grateful to be tossed away from him and into the palm of Sithi, who smiled beautifully at Yodis and stroked his face. She drew him close and pursed her lips as if she were about to kiss him. A thrill coursed through Yodis as he realized he was about to be chosen and would be touching Sithi’s soft and full lips.

  “YODIS!” a rumbling voice sounded that shook the air.

  Sithi’s eyes opened wide in alarm and fear. She threw Yodis down and disappeared in an instant. Barely could he even scream out his own fear when he landed hard on the stone floor of the sacred place.

  “Yodis!” the deep voice called out again.

  Picking himself up from the floor Yodis looked up at the Faceless One who swayed at the top of the wall, hands still covering his face. Yodis trembled, fearful the god might remove his hands and kill him with a glance.

  “Here I am,” Yodis answered, his voice shaking as he spoke.

  “Yodis, I have chosen you,” the Faceless One boomed. Yodis could feel his whole body shake with the power of that voice.

  “I long to let my face shine upon your tribe!”

  “Please don’t” Yodis pled. “For your servant knows that to behold your face is death. What have I done to displease you?”

  “To behold my face is the light of blessing,” the Faceless One said. “I long to bestow a glory upon you, but only if you would heed my voice. It is my heart to make this tribe a great nation, to be the father of kings.”

  Yodis didn’t understand a thing
the Faceless One said to him. His fear blocked out any understanding he might have of the strange words. He hesitated, not knowing what he should do, only trembling in silence. Finally, his training seeped back into fevered brain and knew the proper words.

  “Speak, for your servant listens,” Yodis was barely able to squeak out.

  The Faceless One stood up. For a moment Yodis feared the god might remove his mighty hands and strike him down right there. But the face remained covered.

  Instead, the Faceless One shook his head and a shower of stars danced all around him, streaking through the sky in a blaze of brilliant color. He stomped his feet and the ground shook, trembling the earth to its foundations. Lightning flashed all around him and pillars of fire rose up on either side of the towering figure. Winged creatures sprung up from out of his robes and circled the god in arcs of light. The voice of music echoed all around, an earthy, sonorous sound that brought tears to Yodis’ eyes.

  “You must destroy the idols!” the Faceless One grimly intoned.

  Though deathly frightened of the mysterious god, Yodis knew he could never do such a thing.

  “Those are our gods,” Yodis weakly argued. “The shaman will never permit me to destroy them.”

  “If I am to be your god then you must have no others!” the Faceless one answered. “Destroy the idols and I will bless you.”

  “But who am I to do such a thing?” Yodis cried out. “They will never believe that the gods demanded this.”

  “You must!” the Faceless One insisted.

  “They will never let me!”

  “Here is my seal!” the god intoned.

  Yodis’ forehead exploded in pain. A hot, searing sensation burned into his flesh. He screamed out and grabbed his head, only to have his hands seared by the same fire.