by Doug Kelly
The sun was central to the stories of virtually every population of clansman. In many places and during many eras, its worshipers had considered it the most visible proxy of the divine. They had regarded it as the first entity in the void and the progenitor of all life and matter. The faithful considered it the savior of the world as it regularly rose each day and brought life to the planet. When the sun died in winter, so did the vegetation, only to resurrect itself in the spring, and bring forth new life. The sun’s followers considered budding fruits, lengthening vines, and sprouting grains to be symbols of the sun’s strength, and they ritualistically offered sacrifices to the divine luminary. Light was the subject of awe, and the sunlight’s ability to make plants grow was considered magical and miraculous. They revered it for causing seeds to burst and for bringing the first green shoots of springtime from under the black dirt. The sun was the propagator of universal vegetation, as well as the god of cultivation and the benefactor of humankind.
Although many people believed religion to be a good and necessary thing, no other ideology had actually been more divisive than religion, which had torn clans apart in a number of ways, but none more so than its ability to segregate people through hate rather than unification through peace. Gods and religions had caused more horrors in their names than could be chronicled. Religion depended on division, because it required an enemy, whether in an earthy form such as a rival clan or one that had arisen from a theological conception, such as a competing god.
For Aton, it was counterintuitive to believe that an all-knowing omnipresent god, a divine creator with supernatural powers, would be so conceited or so insecure that he possessed jealous emotions that manifest as the subjugation of his worshipers. Religion always seemed to dictate that some people were special or chosen, while others were immoral and evil, and the clerics constantly insisted that it was the duty of the chosen people to destroy those who were different or were nonbelievers. Aligning and pledging faith to a god was a lifetime commitment. Quite often, the retribution for apostasy was death, usually a slow death that resulted from agonizingly painful punishment that clerics had sadistically designed and cruelly implemented to instill retribution for past sins and as a platform for the salvation and conversion of infidels to the correct theology and true gods.
It was only about religion that Aton and Esina had differences of opinion. Aton had never endorsed it, but he had never argued about it with her, either. It was not that he believed in any other religion; he was merely indifferent. His faith and his clear mind were committed to science, reason, and avoiding superstition. He loved Esina, believed in her, and that was all.
However, with all the power of a logical mind and a contempt for delusions, at times he could not shake off the occasional influence of superstition. Sometimes he had found himself looking for a particular arrow in his quiver, or a certain fishhook in his tackle box and, if only for a moment, considered the item lucky. Esina did not doubt her faith; it was clear and bright like a star in the night sky, or to Esina, the noon sun.
—— —— ——
That evening, with Esina’s messages of hope, love, and trust, conveyed through her sister and the note, those amorous communications almost persuaded him to speak of the expedition that he had planned. He opened his lips to tell Malina of his journey, and had he actually done so, Malina would have persuaded him from it for her sister’s sake. Just as he began to speak, he hesitated, and Malina begged him with all the power of her sister’s love not to do anything hasty, nothing that would separate the star-crossed lovers.
Just as Aton was about to thank her for all she had done, they both heard the snap of a dry twig, and it startled them for fear of someone catching them in each other’s company and therefore enduring the wrath of her angry and vengeful father. They separated and quickly turned in the direction of the noise, waiting to see who or what would emerge from the shadows. The bright light of the full moon, low in the eastern horizon, cast a shadow of the stable across the lawn. Lanzo emerged from the darkness, still dressed in black, and went directly to Aton’s horse. He leaned a shoulder against the saddlebag that contained Aton’s bow and quiver full of arrows. Where they stood, the two men were twenty paces apart. This distance was far enough to keep interaction from easily becoming physical and close enough to speak in subdued tones.
Malina crossed her arms before she spoke. “Lanzo. Just so you understand—”
“Be quiet, woman. I have tolerated you far too much these past few days. Mind your tongue.”
“Lanzo. I refuse to allow you to speak to me that way. Your tone is uncalled for! Have you forgotten who I am?”
With a tone of facetious contempt, Lanzo replied, “On the contrary, my dear, sweet, loving, and wonderful Malina. I know and completely understand what and who you are.”
Lanzo quickly strung Aton’s bow and removed two arrows from the quiver, nocked one to the string and gripped one tightly with his left hand, which also held the weapon. Aton took a step forward. His hot temper began to rise. He took another step forward, so Lanzo raised the bow and Aton stopped.
“Why don’t you fight me like a man, Lanzo?”
“Aton, you’re such a fool. Rumors speak to your intellectual curiosity conceived in the ancient books of the Americans. All I see is someone who has spent his life sketching diabolical contraptions while he hides from the real world that is closing in around him, getting ready to constrict him like a deadly snake in the swamp. I’m that snake in the swamp, Aton.” Tauntingly, Lanzo flicked his tongue and hissed at Aton, like a reptile.
“This isn’t a contest of archery, is it, Lanzo?”
“You can beat me at nothing. Besides, men like me don’t shoot a bow. This weapon is for a hungry servant or a low-ranking foot soldier. No one would dare believe that someone of my pedigree would wield such a weapon. You think that you are something special with your bow, don’t you? You even used these wonderful red feathers as fletching on your arrows so everyone knows who you are. I want to thank you for doing that.”
Aton began to move slowly, but this time not moving toward Lanzo, but away from Malina. “Put the bow down and fight me like a man. Let’s see if your hands can get dirty.”
“Yes, everyone will believe that we fought for our lives, Aton.”
“Then put the bow down and fight me, Snake. Fight me!”
“Maybe we will, Aton.” He raised the bow and pulled the string back to his cheek. “But I need to do something first.” He turned his body slightly to the left and closed one eye to take aim directly at Malina’s heart, and let the string go just as he did. The arrow flew exactly where he had intended. Aton’s arrow, so distinctly fletched with red feathers, went directly through her heart, and her limp body fell to the ground.
Aton was mute in his panic. He saw Malina die and fall. His first reaction was to run to her side, but his rage overcame the impulse, and he turned to charge at Lanzo. During Aton’s hesitation, Lanzo had time to nock another arrow and be ready to shoot. He pointed the weapon at Aton.
Aton growled his words. “You are a cold blooded murderer!” His rage pushed him a step forward and Lanzo raised the bow to caution the movement. He looked back at Malina’s body on the ground, and his fury capitulated to sadness. He went to her side. Her face was like white marble and her heart was as still and silent as stone.
“No, you killed her, Aton. You were jealous and shot her with your bow, thinking it was Esina talking with me at the stables. They look so much alike, don’t they? I can clearly see your arrow through her heart. You’re a great archer. That’s your reputation, isn’t it, peasant?”
Aton snapped to attention, the sound of Lanzo’s voice, taunting him, lit a cauldron full of fury.
Lanzo tensed when Aton seemed ready to pounce. “That’s it, charge me. Come after me and let me kill the man that killed Esina’s sister. I’ll be a hero. Olar will favor me and in no time, I’ll take away all his power and authority. That sloth deserves nothing. A man
like me can create an empire. Come at me and you will die, Aton.” Lanzo lowered the bow. “Or you could leave right now and have a chance to live. When Olar is sober, he’ll send all his men to your clan looking for you, to kill you, but since you know this, you won’t be there. While he obsesses over his daughter’s killer and endlessly searches for someone that he will never find, I will court Esina, marry her, and then I’ll be the new warlord. You don’t look very happy, Aton. Oh, but you should have seen the look on your face when I shot Malina.” Lanzo smirked. “Don’t you like surprises, Aton?”
Aton’s foot moved toward Lanzo and he tightly clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms, hands shaking in anger. Lanzo moved away from the horse.
“Die here and make me a hero, Aton. Run and you could live, if you can run far enough. I don’t want to kill you; my plan works better for me if you run. It’s the quickest way to get rid of the warlord. In fact, I should thank you for your performance this evening. I warned you that it is a bad habit to shout it from the hilltops when you challenge a person. Everyone is going to think you’re a jealous killer. After all, I’m a respected gentleman.”
The stress covered Aton with a fog of confusion. He froze where he stood and grabbed the hair on the sides of his head and pulled. His eyes were open, but it was as if he could see nothing; his mind was in another world, all black, as dark as his future. He knew that if he moved toward Lanzo, an arrow would impale him. His only chance at revenge was to leave, but he would have to leave framed as Malina’s murderer. A part of him wanted to pounce, even to his death in Malina’s honor, but revenge pushed him toward his horse. Before he knew it, he was beside his steed; he felt the cold leather of his saddle and his horse nudged him. The fog in his mind began to fade.
“Mount that ragged beast and leave.”
Without a word, Aton untied the reins and mounted the horse. Lanzo slapped the animal on the rear with Aton’s bow, and the horse sprinted away.
After Aton disappeared through the open gate, Lanzo dropped the bow beside Malina’s body and removed a slim knife from its sheath on his belt. He slit his forearm with it and went to the house to tell everyone that he had bravely fought Malina’s killer, but the murderer had gotten away.
They gasped when he told them that it was Aton, and a whisper in the crowd said, “I knew Aton was no good.” The news incapacitated Nessa, and ale had already incapacitated Olar. As the good mother and Esina wept uncontrollably for the departed, they each thought to themselves, I don’t believe it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
At first, Aton rode quickly, but his horse stumbled even though it was accustomed to the woods. That warned him to be more careful. His trusty steed knew him well and could feel the tension in his body and the unnatural way he had tried to spur the beast onward, with quick and desperate strikes of his heels. His horse resisted the gallop, and Aton’s desperation to flee acquiesced to both his and his horse’s better sensibilities. If the horse were to twist an ankle, or worse, break a leg, he would be on foot in a dangerous forest with a detachment of the warlord’s men pursuing him by the next day. With horses, they would easily overtake him, and with dogs, he would never be able to hide from their hunt.
The passage of so many horses during the last few days had cut up and destroyed the road, which had been a path of green grass through the forest, and the covered wagons had assisted in rendering it rough and broken. He rode slowly and let the reins go slack in his nervous hands. At the side of the road, farthest from all the ruts and divots, the horse went of its own accord, often brushing against the ferns and shrubbery at the side of the trail.
Still absorbed by the events that had almost taken his life that evening and had killed Malina, he could not stop thinking about his eternal love for Esina and the dark wedge that Lanzo had just driven between them, maybe separating the two lovers forever. In a daze, he forgot where he was, until the dismal howling of dogs deep in the forest roused his mind. It was almost pitch black under the tall sycamores. The highest of these trees prevented the beams of the moon from illuminating the path. Like a curtain, the thick foliage of the tree canopy shut out the sky so that no stars were visible. When the dogs ceased barking, there was no sound beyond the light fall of the horse's hooves as it trotted upon the grass. Darkness and silence prevailed; he could see nothing. He spoke to his horse and patted its neck; the animal stepped a little faster and lifted its head, which it had held low as if making its way by scent.
He felt like a man going to the gallows; gloom and despair weighed upon him. As often as he had voluntarily sought the loneliness of the woods, in his current state of mind, it oppressed him. He remembered that beyond the sycamore trees, a forest fire had cleared the ground, and left that area free of large trees, with only a few saplings rising above the tall grass. He became anxious to reach it. It seemed to take forever, but it was really only a few moments. When the trees became thinner and farther apart, the foliage above also thinned, and the stars shone. Before him was the open space he had desired, sloping to the right, and the tall grass looked gray in the moonlight as it sparkled with dew.
Through it rose the crooked and charred remains of azalea bushes that had grown splendidly there before a fire had passed. A white owl silently floated by, following the edge of the forest; from far down the slope came the crooning revelry of a seagull, showing that there was water nearby. Some large animal moved into the light fog that hung there, which immediately concealed it like a cloud upon the ground. He was not certain in the dim light what it was, and with just a momentary view from a distance, he supposed from the fleeing animal’s size that it must have been a white-tailed deer. He tried to suppress a more sinister explanation, which was a cannibal hungry for his raw flesh, running through the woods to keep pace with his slow horse.
Ahead, across from the open ground, rose the dark top of cypress trees, through which his winding path continued. Instead of relief, which he had anticipated as he rode toward the distant trees, the clearing seemed to expose him to the full view of all that might be lurking in the forest. As he approached the trees and saw how dark it was beneath them, the shadowy depths suggested uncertain shapes hiding within, and his memory immediately reverted to the mysterious parchment of nomad incantations that he had recently read in his room at the Regalyon home. He shook his head to clear it of superstitious thoughts. The stress of the evening’s events interfered with his common sense and sensibilities.
There could not be such things as supernatural creatures of the night, with mystical powers, and yet so few people doubted their existence. Some denied it as they sat at their supper tables, in the comfort and safety of their well-lit homes, while sharing ghost stories and rounds of ale, but when they went outside in the night, nervously hurrying to pass through some place thought to be haunted, they ran while lifting their shoulders high to protect their necks from fanged monsters. Fearful glances cast around by those proclaiming not to be superstitious told another tale. Irrational fear was a conditioned response that his analytical mind fought to control. He endeavored to use reason, and remembered how many nights he had spent in the deepest forest without seeing anything, and without even thinking of such matters. He scolded himself for his foolishness, and asked himself if he could ever hope to be a successful leader of men if he jumped at the sight of a shadow. He could tell that the strain his mind had undergone that evening had weakened his better judgment.
Instead of strengthening him, the teachings of philosophy now seemed cold and feeble, and it occurred to him that possibly the belief of the common people, fully shared by their religious instructors, was just as much entitled to credence as his mere suppositions and theories. The details of the mysterious parchment he had read returned to his mind; the accurate description of the demons of the forests and the hills, and especially the incarnated evil spirits hypnotizing their human prey with a glare from their paralytic eyes then enfolding the victim with grotesque arms, capturing their soul. In spite of himself, he p
ressed his horse to go faster, although the road was narrow and broken under the tall cypress trees. The horse obeyed, but trotted reluctantly and needed continual urging.
The yellow light of two fireflies appeared in front of him, illuminating simultaneously at the distance apart of two human eyes, as if a spying apparition had surreptitiously broken through the darkness of another macabre world in order to observe the lone stranger traveling down the dark path. The scene took his breath away and made him clench his teeth. The dual lights thrilled him with the terror of the unexpected. Strange rustling sounds among the ferns startled him, as if the wings of a demon had brushed them as he traveled. Was it the deer again, or the heavy footfalls of a man running through the bushes? Aton knew that rabbits hopping or a boar bounding away could cause unusual sounds, but the peculiar noises increased the feverish excitement that burdened him. Although it was dark beneath these trees, it was not like the vast darkness under the sycamores. The trees lining the path here did not form a perfect canopy overhead. In places, he could see where a streak of moonlight came slanting through an opening and reached the ground. Columns of moonbeams fell on the trail ahead. Some of the forest there had decayed and fallen, and a broad band of radiant silver lit up the way.