by Robert Cely
“Yodis!” the god thundered down. “Destroy the idols! Destroy them all! Do this and you will be blessed!”
The pain in his head spread out over his entire body. He felt as if there was fire running through his veins. He heard himself cry out but his voice sounded distant and weak.
“Yodis!” he heard another voice call out to him, one that sounded vaguely familiar.
“Yodis! Yodis!” it continued urgently.
The sacred place shook and Yodis was hurled off into the starless night. He momentarily forgot his pain as he plummeted to the earth and a new panic took over him.
“Yodis!” Oron cried out to him, shaking his young apprentice.
The shaman’s face loomed over Yodis. He jerked up suddenly, the place on his forehead still throbbing. Frantically he looked around, taking in the familiar surroundings of Numa Din.
“Come, sit,” the shaman said as he gently took him by the shoulders and sat him down again.
“What happened?” Yodis breathed, still disoriented from the strange journey.
“You pulled a coal from the fire and placed it on your head,” the shaman told him. He wet a small cloth and dabbed it on Yodis’ forehead.
Yodis welcomed the cool relief of the wet cloth. He said nothing for a while though desperate to speak to his mentor. Too much had happened for him to make sense of alone.
“Did any of the gods choose you?” the shaman finally asked.
Yodis nodded. His voice wouldn’t work. Instead he pointed to the statue of the Faceless One from across the space.
Oron looked at the statue for a long moment before turning again to regard Yodis. He studied him with a long and curious stare that Yodis could not fathom. Silently, he pulled some dried leaves from a pouch and began mixing a poultice.
“This is strange indeed,” Oron told him as he crushed leaves in the palm of his hand. “Never has the Faceless One chosen a shaman.”
“He told me this was his seal,” Yodis said, pointing to his forehead as if to prove what he spoke was true.
Oron looked closely at the mark on Yodis’ forehead then gently dabbed the salve into the wound.
“It looks like powerful magic,” the shaman said as he applied the poultice.
“He told me to destroy the idols,” Yodis said, hoping for advice from the wise one.
But the shaman had no words for him. Even for the rest of that night and next day Oron hardly spoke to his new acolyte. He would look at Yodis sometimes with an unreadable expression. But every so often, Yodis would see in those eyes the unmistakable resemblance of fear.
Several weeks passed before Oron addressed the issue. They were pealing bark from the Shivuk tree when the shaman mentioned it.
“I have decided the Faceless One is testing you,” Oron said, concentrating on the bark.
At first Yodis didn’t answer. His eyes watched the shaman’s hands, delicately separating bark from tree, careful to keep it all intact. Inside, his mind was stirring. He let the question tumble around before it became too much to keep in.
“What is he testing me about?” Yodis finally voiced.
“He is testing your resolve, to see if you would really carry out a deed so blasphemous.”
“Is it blasphemous to do something a god tells you to do?” Yodis asked, confused by the answer of the shaman.
“Say no more about this,” Oron sighed. Yodis could hear the irritation in his voice.
They never spoke of it again.
Three times that year Yodis partook of the Shivuk bark. All three times he soared up to the Numa Din in the heavens. All three times it was empty except for the towering figure of the Faceless One who loomed over the sanctuary.
Fear overcame Yodis at seeing the massive god. His knees would give way and he fell to his face, trembling, praying that the awful vision would leave him alone.
“Destroy the idols!” the Faceless One would thunder from above. “Destroy the idols so my blessing might descend upon here!”
Yodis would never answer the god. He couldn’t even look at him. The lightning and thunder, the shaking of the ground, the stars plummeting from the heavens, the winged creatures, even the sweet strain of music that echoed about the sanctuary; it was all too much for him to bear. It took all of Yodis’ will to keep his face to the ground and try not to let the voice that shook him to his very depths consume him body and soul.
“Destroy the idols!” the Faceless One would boom, each time more angry than before.
That year the rains dried out again. Only a few times during the wet season did the skies open up and pour down its nourishment onto the jungle. The People looked up at the sky nervously and prayed for rains that wouldn’t come.
Later in the dry season the first baby died and the People grew anxious. Oron went up to the sacred place almost every day. He inhaled the smoke of the Shivuk bark to ask the gods why they punished the People. But the gods would not speak to him. Oron returned from his spirit walks and wept for the fate of the tribe.
“Why won’t the gods speak?” Yodis asked everyday that Oron returned without and answer.
“They must be very angry,” Oron would answer with a sad shake of his head. “We must have done something terrible to offend them.”
Yodis could not help but harbor the thought that he was at fault. Was it because he did not heed the Faceless One that the rains had dried up? Or was it that the Faceless One had chosen him, and this angered the other gods? Either way Yodis could hardly stomach the thought.
He spoke none of these fears aloud. The shaman, he knew, did not want to speak of the Faceless One. So Yodis kept it all in and let it waste away inside him.
Later that year a fire swept through the jungle. It didn’t touch the People but the smoke filled the sky for days. Another tribe, the Anzi, had all of their lands burned up. They took whatever they had left and moved on, looking for other lands.
The Anzi passed through the People’s village on a search for another home. The worn and tired travelers, some still covered in soot, begged the People for food and water. It shamed the People to refuse, but they had no choice. They didn’t even have enough for their own. Yodis couldn’t even look up at the wailing Anzi women and the emaciated children they carried.
The Anzi shaman cursed the People. Spit flew from his cracked mouth as he called the gods to bring down evil.
“Do not worry about his curse,” Oron said quietly. “If his magic were strong they would not have lost their village.”
Weeks later Oron called the Council of Elders together. The oldest men of the village, along with the most esteemed hunters, gathered alone in a clearing deep within the jungle. The fire of council blazed in the night and threw long shadows on the elders as Oron spoke.
“The gods are angry,” Oron told the assembly. “But they will not speak to me to voice their grievance. Instead I have had to watch the signs and consult with the lower spirits to find out who among the most powerful gods has been offended.”
“Have you determined who among the gods has turned his hand against us?” one of the elders demanded to know.
“It is Asher,” Oron declared solemnly. “The god of fire sets his hand against us.”
The elders rose up in anger. A great clamor set out among them, screaming at the shaman, pleading with one another.
“But Asher is the child-eater!” one of the elders cried amidst the uproar. “He is only appeased by young flesh!”
“Behold the signs!” Oron cried with his hands spread wide. “The fire that consumes the jungle, is this not Asher’s fire? Look at the sky. Who but Asher could dry up the rain from the clouds? We have angered him and we will not be spared until his wrath is appeased.”
They argued late into the night. Long after the flames of the council fire fad
ed to embers the elders debated what they must do. They argued only because they didn’t want to do what must be done. They knew that for all to live one would have to be given up.
The days leading up to the sacrifice Oron did not speak to Yodis. He hardly even met his eyes. He even went so far as to forbid Yodis from participating in the ceremony.
It was clear to Yodis why Oron shunned him. The shaman blamed Yodis for the wrath of Asher. Because of him Oron would have the dark task of sacrificing one of the People’s own children. So Yodis would not be an acolyte that night.
A pall of despair hung over the People as they trudged through the jungle. More than one mother wept as they solemnly processed. The hunters wore grim faces, determined not to let the sorrow of the occasion overwhelm them. In every heart they consoled themselves with one thought – sometimes the survival of the tribe requires such sacrifice, sometimes one must perish to save many.
For his own part, Yodis was too consumed in his own grief to notice much around him. He felt a vague sort of sorrow for what was about to happen, but as one consumed in his own suffering he had trouble seeing beyond himself. Instead, as he lingered near the back of the procession he hung his head down and watched the jungle floor pass by as he walked the familiar path.
A few people would look his way, the wonder apparent on their faces. Yodis knew they circulated rumors among themselves, swirled speculation around as to why the acolyte was at the rear of the procession. On more than one face Yodis thought he saw pity directed his way.
Numa Din was ablaze with light as the procession arrived, not only from the torches carried there but by the massive sacrificial fire blazing larger than usual in honor of the angry fire god. The voice of the shaman rose up and cut into the weighty silence of the People’s grief, echoing the words of an ancient and hated ritual.
Yodis looked up and saw that he stood beneath the idol of the Faceless One. Immediately guilt assailed him. Even with face hidden Yodis could feel accusation in the marble figure. He even thought he could hear the god, that voice that shook him to his depths, still commanding him to break the idols.
Unable to bear the shame under the shadow of his god Yodis made his way to the front. The crowd parted for him, ever respectful of his position. Mechanically Yodis moved through the people, his sadness and guilt robbing him of all passion. He stepped up to the front of the crowd – and froze in sudden fear.
There, bound on the altar and crying heartily into the night, lay his true brother.
His feelings exploded into a sudden burst of panic. Yodis looked around, frantically trying to figure out what had happened. He saw his mother, robed in black, weeping on the floor of Numa Din. His father stooped over her, his eyes also red from weeping.
Realization broke painfully onto Yodis. It all made sense now. True brothers were sacred. Sacrificing one would more likely please Asher. And of course Oron couldn’t allow Yodis to participate. It explained Oron’s distance, his reticence to even look at his acolyte.
Little Elyan’s cries pierced the night and drove a dagger into Yodis’ soul. The toddler twisted in his bonds and made eye contact with his true brother. His cry increased with recognition, his screams pleading to Yodis for help.
Yodis took an instinctive step forward and stopped short. A ring of hunters stood between the crowd and the awful sacrifice about to take place. Yodis’ panic increased until it made his head spin. He was helpless. He could do nothing against a ring of hunters. His power was not in fighting, but in the magic of the gods.
Yodis looked frantically along the semi-circular wall of the sacred place, scanning the idols perched there. Perhaps there was a god to help, he thought. Was there no one to pray to? None would hear him except…
The Faceless One.
Yodis hung his head, defeated. The only god likely to hear him was the one he had disobeyed.
Looking up Yodis locked eyes again with his true brother. Pity and sadness surged in him as Elyan’s tear-streaked and fearful eyes pled with him. His heart swelled and ached until he felt it would burst.
The light of the fire began to fade. Looking up into the young face that loved him, that trusted him and looked up to him, an innocent child about be cast into the flames, Yodis lost all sense of fear. Only one thing mattered.
In that moment, unknown to Yodis, he became possessor of a magic more powerful than any a shaman had ever embraced. He turned and walked back through the crowd with purpose. He only stopped for a moment to pause beneath the statue of the Faceless One. He kissed his hand and covered his face in reverence. The time for action had come.
As the voice of the shaman reached a fevered pitch Yodis knew he had little time. He backed out of the gathered crowd and made his way silently behind the wall of Numa Din. Digging his fingers into the minuscule crevices of stone he heaved himself up and quickly climbed.
From atop the wall Yodis couldn’t help but realize how small Numa Din looked. No one had seen him but he could survey them all – his mother and father huddled together in grief, the crowd of villagers looking on fearfully, Oron lost in his manic chants, spittle flying from his mouth, approaching the altar where Yodis’ true brother lay.
He would have to hurry. Asher would be first. Once that idol was destroyed the sacrifice couldn’t continue.
Yodis positioned himself behind the idol of Asher and tried to force himself to lay hands on it. Doubt froze him up mixed with fear. Was it even possible to destroy the idol? This was the essence of the god on earth.
Yodis forced the doubt out of his mind. He swallowed hard and pushed with all his might.
Nothing happened.
Panic rose up again. Maybe he was too late. How dear would be the punishment for his blasphemy?
He looked across at the idol of the Faceless One and breathed a prayer to that unknown god. An unexpected burst of power rose within him. He laid hands again on the idol of Asher and heaved. It slid easily over the top of the wall and disappeared over the edge.
The sound was like a clap of thunder shaking the sacred place. Every eye jerked to the pile of broken marble, the fire god shattered into hundreds of pieces. Confusion crossed every face. Oron had frozen, reaching down for the toddler, shock and disorientation written clearly across his features.
The heads of the People looked up to where the fire god had perched just moments ago, but Yodis had already moved behind another one. He crouched behind the statue of Laki, the long limbed, and pushed him from the wall.
At the second crash the crowd looked and saw Yodis atop the wall. He didn’t wait for them to comprehend. Ithru he cast down next, then Scada tumbled down. The crowd simply watched, bewildered, almost mesmerized to their places. The sheer blasphemy of what he did had shocked them all into motionlessness. Yodis took advantage of the shock and hurled down the idol of Shota.
Oron was the first to be stirred.
“Yodis!” the shaman screamed up at him. “Why do you destroy our gods?!”
Yodis did not answer. He knew that Oron knew why. Oron had to jump back as Sifli came tumbling down, pelting him with a shower of rock.
Yodis paused when he approached Keltis, father and chief of the gods. Perhaps I have done enough, he thought. He looked down and saw Oron, hand outstretched in desperation, fearful for the first of the gods. Just beyond Oron he saw his mother take advantage of the confusion and lift Elyan from the altar. His father was right behind and the two quickly unbound the toddler.
Yodis smiled and looked back down at Oron. Seeing the sheer terror in the shaman’s face a profound thought suddenly struck him. Who are these gods that they can be destroyed so easily?
A cry of agony tore through Oron’s mouth as Yodis pushed down Keltis and the chief of the gods shattered on the stone floor.
“Stop him!” Oron yelled out, directing the hunters toward him, his face
contorted with irresistible anger.
Yena tumbled before the hunters jumped into action, crouching spears and angling for a shot. Yodis knew how deadly accurate the hunters were. He had to hurry.
Spears glanced off of Yana as that idol went down. Some of the women cried out watching the fertility goddess destroyed. Yodis dashed behind Cotl, feeling the spears whiz by, miraculously avoiding a hit. He pushed that idol down and ducked as the spears flew again.
The first spear tore through his side as he reached the death god, Nimiyan. His flesh burned and pain seared through him but he managed to stay on his feet. Heart pounding with effort he pushed that idol off the wall, leaving only one more.
Yodis stumbled as he tried to move on, strength quickly draining from him. Another spear slammed into his gut and a third ripped his thigh open. Yodis teetered on the wall and fell into the idol of Sifli. He leaned into it for balance and tried to pull the spear from his stomach. Pain roared through him almost stealing his consciousness. From somewhere in the crowd below he heard his mother cry out. He dropped the shaft and let the weapon hang from him, even as blood poured from the wound.
Yodis held on to the statue of Sifli growing weaker by the second as dizziness overtook him, unsure if he could finish what he started. He looked over at the Faceless One, still waiting and hidden. One final surge of strength coursed through him. With a strangled cry Yodis pushed with his bloody hands and let out all his remaining strength, tumbling off the wall with the idol.
The idol crashed to the ground with Yodis right behind, the jolt of the fall turning him onto his back. The tribe gathered around, silent and curious about this thing they had just witnessed. None more silent and curious than Oron.