by C. L. Roman
The child pushed free of his father’s embrace, anger now pushing out fear. “Then why? Why must I be sacrificed?”
“Because the god demands payment, and if we do not give it, the crops will fail. Would you have me save you and starve the entire village?” Enosh asked, speaking, in his anguish, more harshly than he intended.
“But why me Father, I don’t understand why it has to be me?”
The man tried to be stern, desperate not to weep himself. Losing the battle, he turned his face away, unable to face the child any longer. “Because the priest says the god demands my very best, and you are my very best.”
Jared swiped a grubby hand at his tears, smudging the dirt already there. He had run when they had told him what an honor was to be his. He had taken refuge in his favorite place, the leafy cave beneath a giant willow. The ground here was carpeted in fine moss and watered by a tiny spring dribbling away to the river’s edge. He had been hiding there, hoping the “honor” would go away so that he could return home. He was a good hider, but his father was a better finder. Now they would go to the bath house for the purification ceremony. Suddenly, Jared was immensely glad he was so dirty. Perhaps the cleansing ritual would take so long the god would change his mind.
Twisting and jerking against his father’s restraining hand, Jared fought all the way to the bath house sobbing and screaming, “I don’t want to be the best then! I’ll be the worst! Let me go Father, please.”
Unable to stop his own tears, Enosh nevertheless put on a stony face and marched the boy into the square brick bath house. Inside, the hot stench of a bubbling pool assaulted his nostrils but he did not back away or even notice much. Having grown up in this village he was used to the smell of sulphur. Through the steam strode the ghostly, cadaverous form of the priest, smiling with satisfaction.
“Well done Enosh. The god will surely bless you for this,” he said, his oily voice scraping Enosh’s nerves to the bone.
“No blessing can repay me for my child,” the father said. “The god asks too much this time.”
A nasty smile spread over the priest’s thin lips. “Do you wish to tell him that?” He turned slightly, raising a thin, white hand to point at the squat golden figure behind him. Its malevolent red eyes winked back at them, lifelike in the wavering torch light.
Gathering his courage into his chest like wheat into an empty, cracked bowl, Enosh sank to his knees before the idol. “Please, Great Sochet, in your infinite mercy and power, spare my son. He is but a child and of little consequence. I will give you all I have if you will spare him.”
Silence grew in the hot room. Eddies of sulfurous air pushed the steam into monstrous shapes, clutching at the occupants like transparent monsters. Even the two guards at the door, spears in hand, shifted from one foot to the other as if anxious to be gone.
Into the stillness grated a sibilant rasp of laughter. “I own all I need of trinkets and carpets.” The voice dripped cold with disdain. “And I do not eat grain. You will bring me the sacrifice of my choice at dawn, or your crops will fail and I will unleash a pestilence on Bend that will squeeze the breath from every throat and make this a habitation for ravens and vultures, a hunting ground for the kite and the screeching owl.”
Enosh swallowed the bile that threatened to overtake him as the reek of rotted vegetation and fetid water filled the room. “Then, oh Great Sochet, will you not accept my life—”
“Father, no!” His tears suddenly dried, Jared sprang forward, falling to his knees to clutch at his father’s sleeve, “I’ll go, I’ll go.” With shocking suddenness, the temperature in the bathhouse plummeted and the humans shivered in the dank, cold air.
“Enough,” the voice bounced off of the mud walls, crashing into their minds with nearly physical force. Even the soldiers fell to their knees under its power, but the priest stood like gray stone, licking his lips and grinning. “At dusk when my children feed, you will bring the boy to me.” The menacing hiss of the bull crocodile filled the room and then there was nothing. No further threat was needed.
Jared stared up at the priest, saw the nasty grin and felt the last of his childhood leave him. There would be no escape now. Looking at the boy, the priest sniffed, hiding his glee carefully before Enosh and the guards had gotten to their feet.
He reached out to place a hand of false commiseration on Enosh’s shoulder, unfazed when the man jerked away. “Well fought Enosh. You are a loving father. As such your sacrifice will please the great Sochet all the more. He only takes our best you know.”
Giving a silent glare in answer, Enosh turned to his son. Drawing the child into his arms he leaned down, placing his mouth near the boy’s ear. “When I move, run,” he whispered.
With a suddenness that caused even the priest to jump, Enosh clutched the boy to him and howled with grief and rage. “Too much,” he cried, “it is too much.” Sobbing theatrically he picked Jared up and whirled about the room in an ecstasy of sorrow. “I know I must give you up but the pain is so great.”
The priest rolled his eyes and huffed impatiently. All this excess over a mere child. One would think the man couldn’t make anymore. Stalking forward he paused between Enosh and the pool and reached out to grab the younger man’s shoulder. Pivoting sharply on one heel, Enosh tottered into the priest. Air left the gray man’s lungs in a whoosh as, arms, eyes and mouth wide, he was sent sprawling into the waters by an “accidental” elbow to the midsection. Water fountained up covering the floor and turning the hard clay into a slippery morass. The priest spluttered to the surface, gasping incoherent, half choked curses.
Still howling his grief, Enosh spun back towards the guards, paying no attention to the sulphur soaked priest, but dropping to his knees on the muddy floor. The guards dropped their spears in a rush to help their employer out of the water.
“Run,” Enosh whispered and released the child as the guards went passed.
“But…”
Enosh caressed his son’s cheek. “Run to your hiding place. I will find you. Run.”
“Stop him, you idiots,” from behind them the priest screamed imprecations, slapping and shoving at the guard’s helping hands. Jared ran.
Spinning on his knees Enosh grabbed one of the fallen spears and surged to his feet in front of the door. The boy would need a little time to get away. Planting his feet firm in the muck, he hefted the spear in one hand, testing the weight and balance while he waited for the guards to turn their attention back to him. His wait ended far sooner than he would have liked.
“Hosea, Micah,” he said, “I have known you since you were boys. You know me. Nothing has changed. Let’s talk about this. No one needs to die today.”
“What are you waiting for? He has defied the god. He must die,” the priest screamed. With an uneasy glance at his brother, Hosea drew his dagger, while Micah snatched up his fallen spear. Enosh simply waited.
Feinting left, Hosea lunged forward, trying to draw Enosh into a defense that would clear the door, but, other than whipping the spear end up to block the thrust, Enosh stood still. Let them bring the fight to him; delay long enough and he could give in gracefully. I will lose the office of headman for this, but it will be worth it if I can save Jared.
Micah made a half-hearted jab at the headman, using his weapon’s greater length to keep the distance between them. Enosh parried, striking upward to deflect the spear and then spinning his own to stop Hosea’s rush with a sharp rap on the wrist. Hosea’s blade spun lazily through the air, landing at Enosh’s feet with a dull thud.
“Ow,” Hosea gaped at his hand, trying to shake the pain away.
“You’re alright,” Enosh said, not without sympathy, turning back to face the reluctant, but still armed opponent on his right.
None of them paid any attention to the gray man, splashing his way out of the pool. The priest moved, dripping equal parts wrath and water, to the small altar in front of the idol and lifted the sacrificial knife from its cradle. Grasping the knife by its b
lade, he tested the balance for a second and then, faster than an eye can blink, bent his arm at the elbow, brought the weapon up next to his ear, and threw, extending arm and hand in one fluid line, ending with all fingers pointing at the blade now embedded in Enosh’s chest.
Enosh stared in amazement at the wound and then at the two men. His knees went first, and he sank to the floor without a sound, dead eyes staring at the young men in warning.
The two guards turned to look at their erstwhile master in horror. He shrugged.
“He wanted to sacrifice himself for his child. Now he has done so. Bring him along. He’ll make a nice appetizer for the children of Sochet.”
“What,” Micah bit his lip, “what will you do sir?”
The priest’s lips flattened into a thin, grim line, “I,” he said, “I am going to find that boy.” He glared at the two shaken guards a moment, then flicked his hand in the direction of the village. “Go, bring the villagers to the river altar. You must always give the god what he wants, my friends, or he will make you pay. It is time the people learned the cost of disobedience.”
***
Sochet grinned to himself, leaning back against the pile of leafy debris his children had collected for him. My children, he chuckled to himself. Mortals are so stupid. A little air current manipulation and steam became a phantom. Train some dumb animals to do a few tricks, oh, and feed them properly so they continued to obey you, and one could make humans believe one was Sabaoth himself. Once they believed that, well, there was no end to the fun you could have.
Just look at this new experiment of his. For months now the entire village of Bend had been bringing him anything he asked for; food, wine and those silly little “necklace” things they made out of that pretty purple stone he liked. They had sold almost their entire crop to get the gold for his little statue, even though they’d go hungry before the turning was over, and all because he had thought it would be funny to send one of his pets wandering through the village center. Add a little mysterious smoke, some rain and lightning from a clear blue sky, and those idiots thought they had seen a representation of God himself.
“And now, my beauty,” he said, cradling the crocodile’s long snout between his scarred talons, “we are changing the game, raising the stakes. You’ll have human meat tonight, and not just any meat, but tender, juicy little boy meat. Won’t that be fun?”
The crocodile looked at him with flat, blank eyes. Undisturbed by her lack of response, the demon threw himself back on the leafy mould with a shiver of ecstatic glee. “Oh yes,” he said, hugging himself with both arms, “this will be fun.”
***
The priest peered at the tree’s profusion of trailing fronds with distaste. Leave it to a child to think this nasty, bug ridden pile of foliage was a good place to hide. The little fool hadn’t even thought to cover his tracks, leaving a clear trail of small footprints which led directly to his dusty concealment. Though he knew he needed to keep a somber expression, the man barely prevented a chuckle from escaping his cadaverous chest. It was pathetic, really, the way the child clung to life. He really should have been sensible of the honor bestowed on him by Sochet. The boy was the first sacrifice of any real consequence that the god had demanded. Even the cost of the statue was nothing compared to this.
The taste of power danced on his tongue like fine wine. It had been so easy, almost embarrassingly so, to get Sochet to ask for this. A mere hint and the god had demanded the unthinkable. Now the entire village shivered in fear, wondering if the chosen one would be theirs; their infant, their only boy. And who was the voice of the god? Who alone could intercede on their behalf? Only the priest.
Turning his attention outward once more, the priest spoke. “Boy,” he said, putting on an expression that held just the right mix of authority and compassion, “come out now, I know you are there. You cannot hide from the great Sochet.”
Silence. If the footprints hand not been plain before him, he would have thought the child had hidden elsewhere. Going into the tree cave itself was out of the question, however, so he put a little more iron into his next words.
“Jared, you are being given a great honor. Come out now or the god will be displeased.”
“If it such a great honor, you should have it, oh mighty Priest,” came the impudent reply, followed by a rustling of deep green leaves and then silence.
The priest hurried around the hanging branches, catching only a flash of brown legs disappearing into the underbrush on the other side. Cursing and grunting, the priest broke through the foliage, bursting almost immediately onto a narrow game trail. Looking down the path he saw the boy running and could not suppress a grin as he noticed the child’s direction. The fool was headed straight for the river.
***
Jotun watched Adahna carefully as she wrapped the first tuber in a broad, green leaf, neatly tucking the edge into a convenient split so that it wouldn’t come unwrapped while roasting in the fire. He followed suit with the next root and they soon had seven of the things wrapped and ready to cook, hoping all the while that Volot, Gant, Sena and Phaella would be able to locate the grapes and other fruit Adahna had sent them after, since the dense orange vegetable wasn’t his favorite.
“How far is this place? And – are you sure you gave them the right location?” he asked, pushing at a recalcitrant leaf edge.
“It’s a good distance, but the fruit is wonderful. Something to do with the soil there, I think. And,” she paused to raise a mocking brow in his direction, “I’ve been getting fruit from that farm for several hundred years. I think I know where it is.”
Jotun chuckled. “Yes, but will Volot?”
She shook her head in mock admonishment, but said nothing further. They worked together in silence for a few moments and then Adahna turned to add a few more sticks to the fire.
As Jotun nestled the last tuber in the coals, a noise shook the underbrush on the other side of the river and he stood with deceptive calm, his hand resting lightly on his sword hilt. Adahna turned toward the sound, fingers flexing, but also calm.
“Hold still boy,” the man’s shout carried easily over the sound of the falls, “or I’ll slit your throat and then feed you to Sochet’s children.”
Jotun looked at Adahna only to find her already in motion, fading into the tree tops without sound, weaving through the vegetation, slipping into the trees across the river, the only evidence of her passage a slight dipping of the branch she now rested on. He glanced at the fire and shrugged.
No help for it, he thought, as he too, slipped through the shadows. So long as the humans stayed on the other side of the river, the encampment shouldn’t be visible. If they came across…well, he’d worry about that if it happened.
“I don’t want the honor,” the high, piping voice of the child trembled in panic as he struggled against the man’s grip.
“Then you are a fool,” the man said, clutching the slim arm tighter as he dragged the boy forward. The man was perhaps four cubits tall with a bald head and a long, narrow nose. His long, red robes hung loosely from a frame so lean as to appear emaciated. The lips were bloodless and held tight in a perpetual sneer. The boy was sturdily built with a ruddy complexion and a curly mop of dark hair. He could not have seen more than seven turnings. Jotun peered through the leaves at Adahna, raising an eyebrow in question. She shrugged, having no better idea what was going on than he. Below them, a dark shape slid wetly into the river and the man tilted his head, listening.
“Do you hear that, boy? Sochet’s children are gathering.” Hoisting the child by the arm, ignoring his cry of pain, the man hurried up the path another cubit. Coming right to the water’s edge he stopped and scanned the current intently. A moment or two passed in which the boy renewed his struggles to free himself without success. The man, apparently finding what he sought, stopped looking at the water and used his free hand to search about under his robes. From some hidden recess he brought out a length of cord and set about tying the boy�
�s hands and feet together, effectively ending the child’s bid for freedom.
Grasping the boy’s face between his skinny palms, the man pushed his face close and looked into the child’s eyes. In the river, two more dark shapes had joined the first, slipping cold and black under the surface of the water just beyond the froth of the falls. Frantic now, the child whimpered and twisted between the cruel hands and Jotun shifted on his perch. The man stank of evil and corruption, the child of terror. Something would have to be done. He looked over at Adahna once more and caught her nod. She had come to the same conclusion. Flexing his sword hand, Jotun tensed, set to spring and then froze. From down river came the sound of a large group of humans traveling toward them at speed. The training officer gave a sigh of relief.
Seizing the boy’s hair, the man jerked him to his feet, smiling as the child cried out.
“They come, Jared, your friends have come to see you off,” the man said.
“They won’t let you do this, Priest,” the boy was crying now, tears making muddy tracks down his cheeks. “My father won’t let you do this.”
The priest cackled, a high, thin rasp of sound that carried no humor. “Your father is dead boy,” he said, “I offered him to Sochet myself.”
“Liar,” Jared screamed, and threw himself at the priest, clawing the man’s robes with his tied hands, pulling himself forward just enough to sink his teeth into the flesh uncovered by the narrow vee of his tormentor’s tunic.
The priest shrieked and hurled the child to the ground. Eyes wide with disbelief, the man probed his wounded chest, checking the depth of the damage and then delivering a vicious kick to Jared’s ribs in retaliation. Above the two, Jotun tensed again, preparing to drop down on top of the priest, but was halted by Adahna’s hiss of warning. The angel looked up and his partner pointed up the path the humans had come down. Two large men with spears came into view, followed by fifteen or twenty others. In the center of the crowd strode four men carrying a blanket wrapped form between them. None of the newcomers looked happy.