"Yes. Indeed, Xarhux had been Bathed in Blood, it is true. But he was the last. Before him, there had been no true Sons of Kunuum for a thousand years. And there will be none now."
"But if it is not passed down, how do you become a Son of Kunuum?" Hurrus asked.
"There it is," Jhar said, pointing to the Temple as it appeared on the horizon. The priest had said that it was not the finest of temples, but the sight of it took Hurrus' breath away. The Temple of Kunuum was built into a massive outcropping of fissured rock. The brightly painted temple seemed to be carved out of the living stone. Giant images of Kunuum, the bull-headed man, were sculpted into the wall, so realistically depicted that Hurrus felt a flash of fear when he saw them. The giant bull-men looked as though they could step away from the walls whenever the urge moved them, and Hurrus was loath to contemplate the unknowable urges of fearsome gods.
As the two men rode closer, the ground descended into a valley and they soon found themselves peering up a sheer natural hillside to the temple perched on its summit. The stone Kunuums loomed above them, gazing inscrutably to a distant horizon with black, pupil-less stone eyes. In the shadows between the figures, Hurrus saw that the walls were covered with the ancient Tygetian picture-writing that only the priests could read -- gaily-painted carvings of men and sun disks and animals and a myriad of abstract symbols and arcane devices. Not a spot of wall was left undecorated.
"By the gods, Jhar!" Hurrus exclaimed. "Why haven't I ever seen this place?" He felt humbled, frightened and excited all at once.
"We are exactly in the middle of nowhere, Prince," Jhar said. "We are leagues from the Royal Road. We are too far from the river for even the bargemen to stop."
They followed the base of the hill until the ground flattened and they came to a large paved courtyard flanked by bright red obelisks of stone. A throng of peasants had gathered at the altar where a little fire burned. The people brought offerings of small animals, lambs and goats. Others carried clay jars of produce or coins clutched in their fists. Priests at the altar relayed written prayers up the wide steps to the inner temple. Illiterate supplicants whispered to the priests and the holy men scurried away with the words in their heads to utter them into the ears of the gods.
When Jhar and Hurrus reached the edge of the courtyard, one of the priests came rushing toward them and took their horses.
"High Master," the priest said with a bow. He wore a long striped robe identical to the one Jhar wore. He acknowledged Hurrus with surprise. His astonishment gave way to excitement when he turned back to the high priest. "Kunuum is speaking today," he said as the men dismounted.
"Ah, that explains it," Jhar said. "Normally, we are visited by nothing more than the whistling wind."
"And rats," the other priest said, as he tethered the horses.
"Yes, and the rats. We spend much of our time catching them. Brother Hersut has become something of an expert in that regard."
"What does he mean 'Kunuum is speaking'?" Hurrus asked.
Jhar started up the steps. "Come along," he said. "I will show you. Normally, the inner temple is reserved for initiates. But I make an exception for royalty."
Hurrus gave a little smile.
"When Kunuum is speaking," Jhar went on as they climbed, "word spreads quickly among the villages. No one knows how long it will last. It could be days and we'll be fiercely busy here. Even some from Archentethe will make the trip. On the other hand, it could be mere hours. Come along inside."
Two of the huge stone Kunuums flanked the entrance to the temple. The carving gave the illusion that the roof was supported by the sharp tips of their horns. The Kunuums' featureless eyes stared nowhere and everywhere at once.
Inside, the great hall was a forest of massively thick soaring pillars that supported a roof so high that the tops of the columns were lost in gloom. The far side of the hall was open to the air as the entire wall was a crumbled ruin. Workmen pushed handcarts full of crushed stone while shovelers and pickmen cleared debris.
"We have come far in our renovation," Jhar said, pointing out the work party. "This temple lay in ruin for two hundred years during the Sarian occupation. Everything you see here has been rebuilt since the time of Xarhux." Jhar held his arms outstretched in a gesture that encompassed the entire building. "All that was left of the original temple was the wall we saw when we first approached."
"The great carved gods?"
"Indeed. Superstitions had grown up around them, that they were constructed by a vanished race of giants or that they were living creatures who by day hid from man in plain sight by transforming themselves into stone. By night, they stalked the land. No one would come near this place." Jhar laughed. "Without the priesthood, I tell you, the people descend into darkness."
"Xarhux began the rebuilding?"
"Not exactly. Xarhux allowed the rebuilding. When he liberated Tygetia from the Sarians, the priesthood came out from hiding. We kept Kunuum and the rest of the living gods alive. We rebuilt everything after the Sarians were gone."
"You were here under the Sarians?" It occurred to Hurrus that he knew nothing about Jhar.
"I was just a boy. We kept the Kunuumi alive in cellars and in dark rooms with hooded lamps. The Sarians hunted us, but Xarhux loved us."
As they conversed, a priest hurried past them, weaving his way between columns to a back wall where a window opened into a dark chamber beyond.
"We have to work fast when Kunuum is speaking," Jhar said. "The people are mad to get their prayers heard while the god is here."
Hurrus watched the priest with interest as he spoke into the opening in the wall. He was reading from a scrap of parchment, a supplicant's prayer. Hurrus could not make out the words. The chamber beyond the wall swallowed the priest's voice. He finished and cocked his head as if to listen. He waited and then Hurrus heard rising out of the chamber a sound that started as a low, plaintive wailing and gradually grew in volume. He didn't know what to make of it. Was it human, even? Was it Kunuum? A shiver ran down his spine. In an instant, the wailing was replaced by rapid speech in a language he did not recognize. It was not Tygetian, nor the Common Tongue, not even Gyriecian. He wasn't sure that it was a language at all.
"What on earth is that?" he asked. There must have been fear in his eyes, for Jhar laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. He was not surprised that he had been unable to conceal his fright. The sound was not of this world.
The babbling ceased abruptly and the priest began speaking silently to himself, his lips moving without sound. Then he scurried off toward the courtyard.
"He has interpreted Kunuum's answer to prayer and he now carries it out to the supplicant."
"What language was that babbling?"
"It was the language of Kunuum."
"It is…terrifying, somehow," Hurrus said. "I must see."
Without waiting for Jhar's permission, Hurrus rushed to the opening and looked inside. There, seated on a carved wooden throne was a man dressed as the Kunuumi. He wore the formal high headdress of Kunuumi ritual. Attached to it was a white cloth that covered his face. Hurrus could see the suggestion of nose and mouth behind it. A single small torch dimly illuminated the room. Out of vents in the floor rose plumes of billowing mist. The mist swirled in the air like motes of dust.
"Kunuum speaks when the gases flow out of the rock," Jhar said. "The faceless man breathes it in and gives voice to the god with his tongue. When the gases cease, Kunuum falls silent."
Suddenly, the faceless man began speaking again. The cloth flapped with his breath. Hurrus leaned into the window, transfixed. The man uttered three urgent clipped syllables and then fell silent.
"What did he say?" Hurrus leaned closer, thinking he saw the cloth flutter. Perhaps the man was whispering now.
"Let us leave here," Jhar said. "It is rare that Kunuum speaks unbidden. I should not have brought you here." He put his arm around Hurrus' shoulders. Hurrus would have nothing of it.
The faceless man blurte
d out a loud syllable and in an instant rose and made a dash for the opening where Hurrus stood. The man moved impossibly fast. Hurrus had no time to react. He was petrified with terror.
The faceless man reached through the window and grasped Hurrus' forearm with a steel grip. In panic, Hurrus tried to break free, but the man held him fast. Then he began babbling incomprehensibly. The cloth fluttered before his face just inches from Hurrus' eyes. A scattershot of blood appeared on the cloth at the level of the man's mouth.
Hurrus tried to pull away, but the faceless man tightened his grip. His iron fingers dug painfully into the flesh of Hurrus' arm.
In crystal clear Tygetian, the faceless man cried, "Here is truly a Son of Kunuum!" He spat more blood onto the veil, and then began wailing. Hurrus felt as though he were in a nightmare. He imagined the stone Kunuums turning their heads to see what troubled their temple, just as the priests turned and froze at the sight of the faceless man reaching out through the window. Finally, Hurrus broke free of his grasp and fell to the floor. From inside the chamber, the wailing ceased.
Jhar hurried over and helped Hurrus to his feet. The prince allowed Jhar to support his weight. His legs felt weak. Nervously, he stole a glance through the window and saw the faceless man sitting still on his throne. The gases roiled around him. Another priest rushed up to the window, carrying a written prayer.
Hurrus broke free from Jhar and hurried away from the chamber.
"I don't want to hear it anymore," he said. "I must get back to Archentethe."
He rushed out of the temple without looking back.
Chapter 3
"There's a hopeful sign," Xanthippus said.
They rode past a work yard where an old man stood under the shade of a rickety canopy that fronted an even ricketier house. He was running a plane over a piece of crooked lumber, squinting along the length of board. The yard was a jumble of tools and half-finished carpentry. An unpainted wagon sat wheel-less near a sagging shed, its axles supported by stacks of mud bricks.
"Signs of life," Nydeon said. "We must be approaching Jakuk."
Two dogs rushed out of the house and stood at the side of the road, hackles up, snapping at the horsemen. Xanthippus regarded them with faint interest. In Prathia, they might have amused themselves by flinging daggers at the mangy curs. The men would lay wagers. If nothing else, it prevented people from allowing their animals to menace passing horsemen. The old man yelled something in Tygetian and the dogs slunk away with their tails between their legs. A young boy climbed out of the shed and gave the strangers a long gape-mouthed stare.
Xanthippus eyed him briefly. No less than mangy curs, gape-mouthed boys were none too safe in Prathia, either.
More signs of the city lay ahead. The road gradually improved, and the structures and the people who inhabited them did as well. Xanthippus found himself contemplating the days of travel still ahead of them, from Jakuk to the capital city, Archentethe. He already felt as if they had been traveling forever. It seemed a long way to go to kill a man, even a prince. If it had been up to him, he would have just entered by the front door in the dead of night, committed the deed and left again. What could be simpler? That was how it would have been done in Prathia. Of course, he did not fully understand the intricacies of Tygetian ways. Already, they seemed to him a puzzling people.
But he knew that the Tygetians kept their front door closed. From what he had been told back in Prathia, foreign ships were not allowed into their ports, the Tygetian 'front door'. All trading vessels put in at a facility on some offshore island. There, like the Albyan caravans, the Tygetians took charge of the ships and guided them into the country themselves. Royal entry passes were required for foreigners and these were reserved for high-level diplomatic envoys. Not so in the backwater of the Albyan Road country, where the passes bore the seals of mid-level bureaucrats and not kings and princes.
In addition, the ports, if Seus could be believed, were swarming with these Mejadym.
Given the level of paranoia, Xanthippus could see why assassins had been drawn from Prathia, where the bravest and deadliest of men in all the Lands could be had for the right price. Even Menleco had blanched at the difficulty of the task. He had assuaged his doubt by offering the job to his best men. The opportunity had been too lucrative to turn down. A year's wages awaited them upon their return.
Still, as Xanthippus traveled along the desert road leading to Jakuk, he was plagued by more than just heat, dust, skinny boys and dogs. It bothered him first that Seus had been unprepared to meet them. This, however, he could write off as a mere bad omen born of incompetence. On the other hand, it had begun to trouble him deeply that he had never before heard of this Mejadym. He liked to know what he was up against.
"What do you think we're up against?" Nydeon asked. "We want the prince dead. We're up against people who want the prince alive. Call them Mejadym; call them whatever. The end is the same. The prince will die. We will go home."
Sometime during the late afternoon, they passed under the crimson obelisks that marked the entrance to the unwalled city of Jakuk. Xanthippus marveled at the massive trading post of the Albyan terminal. There he saw laborers hoisting bales of Albyan cotton into wagons with wheels as tall as a man. Administrators scurried about with their quill pens and parchments. Farther along the road, the men passed granaries and smithies, houses, shops and temples. They knew they had entered the heart of the city when the road became paved with cobblestones and was intersected by a myriad of alleys and byways. They were soon lost in a sea of human and animal traffic, wigged Tygetians in white tunics, horses, malecs and flocks of bleating sheep.
They scanned the horizon for the palace and spotted a likely edifice topping a swell of ground to the north. They turned toward it, entering a bustling square.
"You boys look lost."
A voice in the Common Tongue rose out of the swirl of the Tygetian babble that filled the square and two mounted men appeared on either side of them. They wore matching crimson headscarves and red-trimmed tunics, and short swords sheathed at their belts. Xanthippus turned his eye to them and saw a clean-shaven Tygetian face regarding him quizzically, the man's lips edging toward an ugly grin.
Xanthippus and Nydeon made no reply. They rode on.
"I say, you look lost, Gyriecian," the man said again, this time in a louder voice. "Stop your horses when I speak to you."
The men reined to a halt. Xanthippus rested his hands on the pommel of his saddle. He regarded the man beside him with a placid expression. The eyes that gazed back at him were doltish and cruel.
"I didn't realize your comment required a response. What's that you say again, now?"
"I say you're a long way from home, Gyriecian."
Xanthippus stared at him. Then he put heel to his horse and he and Nydeon continued on their way.
"Stop, you bastard Gyriecian," the man shouted. He put his horse in front of Xanthippus this time. Again, Xanthippus reined up.
"I have listened to your observations politely." Xanthippus could not keep the edge out of his voice as he took the measure of both men. Jakukian ruffians perhaps. Their short swords were clean, unmarked, and ornate, the size of overlong daggers. Show-weapons. They were not made to be unsheathed quickly. Xanthippus' own concealed dagger was just long enough to kill a man, and no more. "I find your comments fascinating, son, but now I would like to proceed to my destination, if you don't mind."
"But I do mind," the man said crossly. He shot his companion a look. "I'm telling you that we don't get many Gyriecians here."
"Especially Gyriecians dressed as Albyans," the companion added.
"What have you to say for yourselves?"
Xanthippus glanced at Nydeon and then back to the oafish, grinning man. "I say you better tell us who you are and by what authority you question us -- while you are still able to speak."
The man laughed. "He threatens us!"
His companion stiffened on his mount. "Are you in the habit of threateni
ng the City Watch, friend?"
"Believe me," Xanthippus said, "you'll find that I do not make idle threats."
Nydeon smiled. "He truly does not," he told the Watchmen, almost laughing.
"Get off those horses."
"I prefer to sit," Xanthippus said.
"I command you to dismount." Muscles in the man's face began to twitch. "In the name of the City Watch of Jakuk."
"I shall remain mounted. Now," Xanthippus said, "tell us what we can do for you gentlemen before we move on."
The man stared red-faced at Xanthippus. He placed a hand on the haft of his short sword. The movement drew Xanthippus' eye. The watchman noticed his gaze and let his hand fall to his side.
"Passports," he said.
Out of the corner of his eye, Xanthippus peered at Nydeon. Nydeon nodded almost imperceptibly and reached inside his kaftan. Xanthippus did the same. His fingers brushed the haft of his dagger and lingered there.
"You are the City Watch?" he asked, his fingers tightening on the knife. "Or Mejadym?"
The watchman twittered an ugly high-pitched chirping that passed for a laugh. He said something in Tygetian to the other.
"It is lucky we are not Mejadym," the watchman said. "Lucky for you, that is. Now, those passports. Please, before we are forced to summon them." More ugly chirping.
Xanthippus let his hand slide off the dagger and onto the leather cylinder containing the passport. Now he would see the quality of Seus' work. He quickly decided that it was better to unveil it first to these buffoons, and not the Mejadym, or even the governor, for that matter. He immediately began thinking how he and Nydeon could make their way back to the Crossing to cut Seus' throat, if necessary. Tygetia was difficult to enter, but it just now occurred to him that it might be even more difficult to leave.
The watchman broke the seal and quickly scanned the document. "You are spies," he announced, handing the curled parchment back to Xanthippus.
The Blood Gate Page 4