Vengeance of Hope

by P J Berman

  Aside from their vastly differing levels of technology, it seemed that the biggest thing that set the cultures of Rilana and Bennvika apart was a difference in ideas and their stricter position against slavery wasn’t the only one.

  ‘I get the impression that religion is taken very seriously in Bennvika,’ Voyran said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Viktana stiffly, as seemed to be her usual manner. ‘The Gods protect all who worship them. People of other cultures living in Bennvika are allowed to worship their own Gods if they choose to, but that is additional to the worship of our Gods, which is compulsory. Everyone in Bennvika pays homage to Vitrinnolf and Lomatteva, be it through upbringing or conversion.’ She had been trying to convert Voyran for a while now. It wasn’t going to work. In Rilana the Gods were figureheads and nothing more, as it should be.

  ‘You seem to see these Gods in everything. They must command great loyalty,’ he said.

  ‘Wouldn’t you show loyalty to someone who protects you?’

  ‘It depends how effective they are at it.’

  ‘The loyalty of the Bennvikan people to the Gods is unbreakable,’ Viktana said angrily.

  ‘Unless the Gods show weakness, it seems,’ said Voyran. ‘Didn’t you say that these Gods were once mortal? Who do you think they worshipped?’

  ‘They showed our ancestors the folly of their ways in worshipping false Gods. Those people saw the divinity of the true Gods first hand. Before their conversion, famine stalked the land, but after, Bennvika was a land of plenty.’

  ‘So in other words, holy Bennvikans can be not only bought, but can even be moved to convert in adversity. Potentially very useful. Your people fear your Gods and yet despite what you say, it is clear to me that your loyalty to them has been fickle when tested. Very curious.’

  ‘A God must protect their people in just the way that a ruler should,’ Viktana conceded; a fiery but defeated anger in her eyes. She had the defiant look of one who knew she had been outmanoeuvred, but would not accept it. ‘The loyalty between a God and a mortal must flow both ways.’

  ‘Which is slightly different from what you said a moment ago with regards to the loyalty of a Bennvikan to their Gods. I wonder though, could it simply be that when times are hard, your Gods are testing you? It is a primitive idea, is it not, simply to blame others when things go wrong, especially if those you are blaming are Gods? By my reckoning, the inability to take responsibility for one’s own troubles limits progress.’

  He looked over at Emostocran.

  ‘It appears we have more to teach these people than we thought,’ he laughed. Viktana bit her lip in fury but said nothing.

  ‘Now,’ said Voyran in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘The country itself. The land. The terrain and the weather. What’s it like?’

  Viktana’s eyes burned with fury, but she answered the question. She described a temperate and often wet climate, with a hand-full of burning hot days that were vastly outnumbered by those of summer drizzle. At least the winters didn’t sound too bad though and the terrain sounded largely flat. The scattered hills and valleys it did feature sounded like they wouldn’t present any problems. Apparently, the only mountainous areas were inhabited by the tribal peoples in the territory of the Defroni Kingdom, Bennvika’s southwestern neighbour. The large forest she spoke of worried Voyran for a moment until she mentioned that it was in the kingdom’s centre, so would not be an issue for some time yet.

  After sending Viktana and Emostocran away, Voyran thought about the conversation further. He found his mind repeatedly wandering back to the complex relationship between the Bennvikans and religion.

  Religion had never been seen as such an issue in Rilana. Not for many centuries anyway. People had their traditions and that was that. As in Bennvika, people in Rilana generally followed the national religion, but there were many others and these were tolerated peacefully so long as their practices didn’t contravene any state laws. The difference was that the Bennvikans seemed to believe that their fates were entirely in the hands of one God or another. Voyran wondered if that was what was holding back their technological and cultural development, in contrast to the flourishing of the sciences and the arts in the Rilanian world, where religion is more akin to tradition rather than a source of law and oppression. Religion was also never used as a form of politics in Rilana, whereas by the sound of things, the Bennvikan people were ripe for the manipulating, given the right religious rhetoric. Therein was the biggest difference between their cultures and it was one that Voyran planned to exploit.

  THE PREDDABURG CITADEL, RILDAYORDA, BASTALF, BENNVIKA

  That night, even the spirits seemed restless and not least in the dream world in which Ezrina found herself. She was well aware that this strange, dense forest of ferns and conifers was one that existed only in her own mind. However, she was intrigued, so she let the dream continue.

  There was almost no sound, save for a gentle, whistling breeze and the swaying of the leaves. Even when she sensed another presence, she found herself strangely unworried by it as she felt its eyes on her.

  ‘Come to me. Come to me,’ whispered a voice in her ear. She started to move, following the twisting path between the trees.

  ‘Come to me. That’s it. Come to me,’ the voice said again.

  ‘Yes. Go to her,’ said another, younger sounding, yet equally ghostly voice.

  She carried on, but she stopped dead in her tracks when she rounded a bend to find an enormous brown bear blocking her path, only a handful of metres away. Backing away slowly, she instinctively felt for something she could use as a weapon, never taking her eyes off the sitting, panting beast as it surveyed her, but she found nothing.

  ‘It’s only a dream. It’s only a dream,’ she reminded herself.

  The bear gave a long, low growl as it got up, slavering and began to advance as she retreated.

  ‘Ezrina, do not be afraid.’

  ‘Jezna!’

  Where had Jezna come from? Ezrina was stunned to see her lover in a brown dress, confidently walking out from the forest to stand between her and the bear. Suddenly she wished it wasn’t a dream, except for the bear of course.

  ‘Why do you fear him Ezrina? Do you not recognise Ursartin? We have come to escort you to the Goddess.’

  Immediately Jezna and the bear turned and started walking down the path in the other direction.

  ‘Jezna! You have to tell me. Do you live?’

  No answer.

  ‘Jezna! Answer me!’

  Jezna turned.

  ‘Come with us and all will be revealed.’

  Obediently, Ezrina followed. Soon they reached a clearing. At one end, there was a particularly large tree. Jezna’s ghostly image walked over to it and stood to one side, with Ursartin taking up position on the other, both facing Ezrina. As she watched, the tree began to change shape, morphing into a matriarchal, middle-aged woman sitting on a throne. She wore a golden crown, while her face was framed by long black hair and jewelled earrings. Her powerful looking body was clad in a long shawl the colour of ochre, while her belt, the rings on her fingers and the hoops around her bare, muscular arms were works of purest gold.

  ‘Bertakaevey?’ Ezrina was so stunned that the name almost stuck in her throat. ‘Oh glorious mother Goddess,’ she blurted out impulsively, dropping to her knees, bowing so that her forehead touched the grass.

  ‘Arise, for it is you who shall be the glorious one,’ Bertakaevey said in a powerful tone. ‘You on whom your people will come to depend, or else perish.; you who will be the bearer of my message.’

  Obediently, Ezrina got to her feet, though in her fear, she still couldn’t quite look Bertakaevey in the eye. She was overawed by everything she was seeing and hearing.

  ‘Look at me, my dear. Show me your strength. The Bennvikans tell you that I am just a manifestation of their Goddess Lomatteva. Know that this is not true. However, for your purpose, you must appear to believe this for a while longer, at least in the eyes of some. Find the
one who knows both faiths and knows the truth. Be patient, my dear. Only strike when I give you the command. When I do, you will know it and the people will flock to you in search of deliverance from the terror that shall soon be raging upon them. You must protect them from that and lead them through the path that I will show you. Are you up to the task?’

  Ezrina nodded.

  ‘Yes, great one.’ She didn’t know why she said yes, except that the Goddess’ words filled her with a strange sense of power, even though the way that bear was eyeing her was distracting, to say the least.

  ‘My lover, Jezna, does she live?’

  Bertakaevey lifted her right hand and the image of Jezna moved over and knelt down at her side, resting her chin on Bertakaevey’s knee, so that the Goddess could run her fingers through her hair.

  ‘She does, but doing right by your people will be the only way you can save her. When the time comes, people of all tribes will flock to your side, but only if you do as I say. Only then will you be able to save your dear Jezna.’

  ‘I’ll do anything. Anything! What must I do?’

  Bertakaevey chuckled.

  ‘Rise up, my dear, rise up.’

  She was gone. Everything was gone. The woods. The Bear. Jezna. Looking around, Ezrina realised that she’d woken from the dream. She was in the room Gasbron had given her and Jezna a few days ago. She turned over and found Gasbron sleeping next to her. Then she remembered he’d wanted to speak to her after the battle, but one thing had quickly led to another.

  She sat up in bed in the candlelit, windowless room, whose door was slightly ajar and wondered what time of day it was. She slipped her legs out from between the sheets and quickly put on her simple brown dress and her sandals, leaving Gasbron to carry on sleeping. She opened the door and walked out into one of the many alleyways of the inner ward; finding it to be just past dawn. She made for the gates out of the citadel into the city itself. The guards there knew her by now and she had no trouble passing through. It was still quite early as she walked down the sloping path, but already some people were out, beginning their day, though the streets were as yet far from bustling. In the dim morning light she made her way south, certain of what she had to do next.

  Her destination was the city temple, which officially doubled as a shrine to both Lomatteva and Bertakaevey and had been built by the Bennvikans as a peace offering to the Hentani, to help keep them pacified after their surrender. However, this revelation by Bertakaevey disproved the theory that the two Goddesses were one and the same. She had to make others see this and make them hear Bertakaevey’s message.

  The Hentani had no stone buildings of any particular size, so the temple had been built in the Bennvikan style. It was rectangular, with steps leading up to many pillars, which were topped by a wide triangular fresco, which in its centre depicted a grand looking woman, seated on her throne.

  ‘A wonder of Bennvikan architecture, is it not?’

  Ezrina turned to see who had spoken and saw a middle-aged, greying, stubble-chinned man in light grey robes; a Hentani priest, easily identifiable from the Bennvikans, who mostly wore black. Yet his pale skin gave him a Bennvikan look. It was also devoid of the blue tattoos that most Hentani men adorned themselves with, though this was true of all Hentani priests. Equally, no Hentani priestess wore the red body paint that most Hentani women used. For the tribe’s holy people, their unblemished skin was a symbol of their piety.

  ‘It is,’ she replied. ‘Though it is what goes on inside those walls that counts.’

  ‘Quite true, though the Bennvikans do like their grand stone gestures.’

  ‘You speak of the Bennvikans as if they are another people, yet you are not Hentani.’

  ‘And I see that you most certainly are, yet I have not seen you at prayers here before,’ he said, gesturing at the red ochre patterns that Ezrina had now reapplied to her skin and surely noting her darker complexion, rounded face and slanted eyes. ‘But you are right in your observation. It is no secret. I was born a Bennvikan, in Attatan, Hertasala. Now I live here, among the city’s Hentani community, a different man, with a different name. They call me Jakiroc.’

  ‘Ezrina. I came here from Quesoto.’

  ‘You do not call it Lithrofed?’ said Jakiroc, looking surprised and a little impressed.

  ‘The Bennvikans may call it their city and force a new name on my home, but its Hentani heart beats as strongly as ever. Anyway, I came here with the army, though now it seems that I must pray to Bertakaevey for guidance.’

  ‘A new arrival with concerns already. I presume that they are due to the city’s current predicament?’

  ‘Yes, among other things,’ said Ezrina.

  ‘It seems you have been here rather longer than I, if I understand your words correctly,’ she added, changing the subject. ‘Why did you defect?’

  Jakiroc thought for a moment.

  ‘Come,’ he said, smiling wryly and taking her hand. ‘I will show you the inside of the temple.’ Ezrina was confused as to why he had been forthcoming with the information he’d given her up to this point but had baulked at the idea of going into why it had happened. Surely that too would be common knowledge if people knew what she already knew of him?

  She followed him up the steps and past the tall pillars. As they walked further inside, they entered a wide corridor with a tall ceiling and with many doorways leading to what must have been a warren of interconnecting rooms. Wall-mounted braziers lit up colourful paintings, depicting stories from both the Bennvikan and Hentani faiths, though Ezrina guessed that if this place had been built to create a sense of political and religious unity between the Bennvikans and the Hentani, these depictions and stories had been carefully selected. Nobody would want the images from one faith to offend the members of the other and create what would be at the very least an unnecessary political headache.

  Many visitors walked this way and that, talking in hushed tones, while the voices of chanting priests and worshippers echoed throughout the building.

  ‘The main hall is at the end of this corridor, you can worship there,’ Jakiroc said.

  ‘No, I must worship in private.’

  Jakiroc looked taken aback.

  ‘Alright, here.’

  He indicated a small room to their left. ‘But you must be accompanied by a priest.’

  ‘I have no quarrel with that. In fact, it is what I require. Will you do that for me?’ Ezrina asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  They went in and Ezrina saw a room that was as highly decorated as the corridor outside, with the blue paint of the walls dominated by depictions of Bertakaevey and by more pictures showing episodes from Hentani mythology. Yet the room was still dominated by a long table at the end of it, on top of which stood a golden statuette of Bertakaevey, standing about a foot tall with her arms outstretched either side of her. Next to it was a wine cup. Jakiroc locked the door behind them and both knelt down before the statuette, bowing their heads.

  ‘I have seen something,’ Ezrina said quietly as they got back up. ‘I bear a message that the temple must hear.’

  ‘What have you seen?’

  ‘Swear that you will not tell a soul without my permission.’

  Jakiroc laughed.

  ‘Oh, my child, what can-’

  ‘Swear it! Swear it in the sight of Bertakaevey!’ Ezrina pointed forcefully to the gleaming statuette.

  ‘Alright,’ he said calmly, holding up his palms with an awkward smile. ‘I swear in the sight of Bertakaevey, blessed be her motherly guidance, that what you say to me now shall not be repeated, except with your permission. Now, I am unused to visitors expecting such subservience from me, so I must ask why.’

  ‘I had a dream last night. A vision. A visitation!’ Ezrina said.

  ‘From who?’

  ‘Bertakaevey! With Ursartin by her side.’

  Ezrina deliberately left out the presence of Jezna.

  ‘And what was said?’

  ‘Ursartin
led me to Bertakaevey’s throne, where she told me that I must be the one to tell all that we have been misled by those who claim that the Bennvikan Goddess Lomatteva is Bertakaevey by another name. She told me we must rise up with her blessing before our culture and livelihood withers away little by little.’

  Jakiroc looked interested, if rather cautious.

  ‘Your words do have a truthful sound to them, but the risk is great.’

  ‘The risk? If we do not act then the Hentani are destroyed anyway. We have been conquered and the Defroni have long since turned to the side of the Bennvikans, convinced by their heretical preachings – and their gold of course. We must overthrow this oppression. We must make them see and hear our message and we must do the same for all Hentani living under Bennvikan rule. There is no risk. Not to us. Bertakaevey is on our side and will protect us.’

  Jakiroc was silent. Ezrina understood. This was a man who knew both cultures like no other that she had met and when combined with the importance of this moment, she could see how there would be a battle going on in his mind.