by C. L. Roman
Looking at the surrounding crowd the priest raised his voice. “These two are now one in the sight of this assembly, in the sight of God. Let none come between.”
The crowd roared its approval and it was all Danae could do to keep from throwing herself into her husband’s arms there and then.
Still, there were four more weddings to be performed and they didn’t want to keep the priest waiting.
Chapter Twelve
The wedding feast was massive. Table legs sank several inches into the ground under the mountainous expanse of food that covered their tops. Wine kegs were broached almost continuously so that it seemed as if that beverage flowed in a never ending stream from keg to cup to the laughing lips of every guest. The entire village and most of the visitors had contributed at least one dish to the meal so that none went hungry and many ate far more than was good for them and still the tables groaned under the weight of what remained.
The ten member wedding party reclined at their own table, smiling and laughing with the rest. There was little doubt though, that they longed to be away.
“I can hear our little house calling us,” Danae whispered to Fomor.
An inner fire seemed to light the dark eyes he turned to hers as he lifted her hand to his lips. “Soon, my love, we will go. But your Mother asked me to wait a few more minutes,” he murmured against the soft skin of her wrist before placing a tender kiss on her palm. “Something about a gift that your Aunt Mara wanted to give us.”
A puzzled frown wrinkled the skin of her forehead. “All the gifts should be in our home already. Brides do not receive gifts at their wedding, it—”
His fingers brushed her lips closed, “We are breaking a number of traditions today, one more will make no difference.”
The frown deepened as unease swelled unaccountably under her ribs. “I do not wish to appear greedy. This time is to celebrate our love and repay the guests for their kindness, not to slaver over rich gifts while the guests have none.”
Her husband’s face settled into more serious lines. “Is she likely to give a rich gift?”
Danae gave a surprised snort of laughter. “No, truly she is not. Oh, I am worrying for nothing, it will be one of her pots and none will think me greedy over it, of that I am sure.”
Fomor’s eyes glinted with pleasure to hear her laugh, though he wondered at the cause, but before he could pursue the conversation further, Mara’s husband, Lamesh, was calling for quiet.
“I know,” he began when all eyes were upon him, “that it is not our way to give gifts at the wedding feast. Indeed, gifts are usually a worldly consideration and have no place at a spiritual event. But the gifts my good wife and I have brought are spiritual, and they will benefit everyone in both villages, just as a good marriage benefits the entire community…” he trailed off as if unsure what to say next. He was saved from further explanation as his wife bustled forward.
Behind her stepped twelve strong young men in two columns, bearing between them two platforms, each holding a large object covered entirely with an intricately woven and colorfully embroidered tapestry.
Danae gasped over the beautiful drapery, the scenes so finely worked that the figures seemed to move, acting out the stories depicted. Each day of creation was shown in minute detail. The sun, moon and stars were worked with bright jewels that glittered with light borrowed from the original. Birds appeared to fly through trees that looked so real one could almost smell the fruit that hung on them. In the final scene, the sword of the Cherubim flashed with such holy light that one instinctively looked away from it. To gaze too long was to weep anew for the fall of man.
With a flourish, Lamesh stepped up and whipped the brilliant tapestries from the objects they hid and the crowd gasped together under the fierce glare of two golden grimaces.
As one, the angels bolted to their feet, Volot fumbling for his absent sword before looking to Fomor. Above the feast, the sky began to darken and the light breeze that had cooled the celebration all morning sighed and scuttled low about their feet now in uneasy little puffs of heat.
The human brides and grooms looked worriedly from the strange statues to their new spouses in confusion. In the ensuing silence, Danae’s hand floated involuntarily to her stomach in an attempt to quell the sudden nausea there. She glanced back at the statues, but found it difficult to look at them for more than a moment. Something about them filled her with unease, with fear, almost.
Lamesh’s broad smile faltered, then faded under the somehow ominous hush that had fallen. Guest’s shifted uncomfortably in the rising heat as sweat trickled between shoulder blades previously dry.
“And what is the purpose of these?” Fomor gestured toward the figures, reluctant to give them a name in the hopes that he was wrong about their intended use.
Lamesh smiled in relief. “They are for worship, to assist our prayers, and answer them,” he replied, his eager voice sounding abnormally loud in the still air.
“Your generosity is great, your intentions, no doubt, excellent, but surely you know that we worship only Ahba, our Father.” Nephel came quietly to stand beside his new son by marriage.
Lamesh swallowed, tried another smile, “But, this is Ahba, the creator. Can you not see the rays of his power, the benevolence of his smile?”
All looked back at the idols. Danae shuddered and looked away.
“Sabaoth is spirit. He cannot be shown in physical form.” Jotun’s words were grave, and final.
“But,” Mara stepped forward hesitantly, “surely you can see the value of this new way of worship. Everyone is doing it.”
“How can the Creator of the universe be trapped in such works? If He is in this carving, how can He also be in that one?” The questions were soft but the fierce strength of Fomor’s gaze pushed Mara back a step.
She swallowed hard and tried to answer. “A portion of his spirit resides inside.”
Volot’s harsh laughter stopped her words. “A portion? A PORTION? Why should I worship a portion of the God I have always worshipped in His entirety? Why should I be satisfied with a portion of His attention, His love, His provision, when He has always given me all?”
“Please, we meant no disrespect. When we pray to these carvings, our prayers have more power, they are focused on the portion of Ahba’s spirit in the statue, and carried up to Heaven by it, to the very ears of God. It is a powerful thing, a good thing and we thought only to share that good with our friends.” Lamesh’s voice was low, but his eyes flashed anger as he continued, “This is a rich gift, one that will benefit your whole village. All may pray, and God will answer.”
“No.” Uncomfortable, now that every eye was focused on her, Danae nevertheless took a deep breath and continued. “Our God cannot be contained by the work of human hands. I know that you meant to honor us uncle, but I would much rather have had one of Aunt Mara’s pots.” She watched and winced as she saw Lamesh’s livid face.
“Oh Danae, of course dear, you may certainly have one of my pots,” Mara bustled forward, her voice shrill with relief. “We’ll take the figures back to our village. I’m sure we can get a good price for them – and I’ll send you one of my pots.”
“No!” her husband bellowed, and Mara’s face went pale. “Do what you will with it – and with this!” He threw the tapestries at her feet and she automatically stooped to rescue the beautiful things from the dust. “But it is no pot for you to break. And I am no fool for you to insult.” Grabbing his wife’s arm he towed her out of the feast, leaving the idols grinning behind him.
The crowd watched in silence as Nephel walked over to the statues, one hand stroking his chin, the other cupping his elbow. He stared fixedly at the carvings, circled them, examined them from all angles. Finally, he spoke, “Well, it seems that every party has its unexpected,” he waggled his heavy black brows for emphasis, “guests.”
A sigh of relieved laughter rippled through the crowd. Nephel spoke in an undertone to one of the twelve who had helped brin
g the idols in and the young man nodded gravely. Signaling to his companions he grasped the pole he had released when the statues were set down and the others did the same. In a matter of moments the small group had disappeared with their burdens into the foliage.
Fomor stepped forward and would have spoken, but Nephel held up his hand. “Today is for your bride, my son. Today is for joy. Leave this matter to me. We will speak more of it tomorrow.”
A frown settled onto Fomor’s brow, but he nodded in acceptance of his father-in-law’s suggestion and returned to Danae.
Shahara leaned over to her sister lifted her chin toward the company. “I think the party is over, yes?”
Danae stared around her, still struggling to understand the events she had just witnessed. The guests were speaking in whispers, stealing glances at the bridal couples, gauging their reactions. Here and there a nervous giggle rose up and was quickly stifled. Gathering her wits about her, Danae nodded, “Yes, I think it best we go. Let us begin the dancing and, as we had planned, slip out two by two.”
Shahara turned and nodded to the musicians who were set up to one side of the clearing. They took up their instruments eagerly and the air was filled with music. The couples moved into the cleared area in front of the wedding canopies and began to dance – hands touching, feet skipping – and remembered to be joyful. The breeze began to move overhead again and other couples joined the dance. Laughter rang out and the temperature dropped several pleasant degrees.
After the second song Shahara caught a glimpse of Danae and Fomor as they disappeared into the trees. Suddenly her pink cheeks had nothing to do with the liveliness of the dancing. As the song ended and the next one began, Volot took her hand and urged her down the path to their new home. One by one, the remaining pairs followed suit while the guests pretended not to notice the growing lack of bridal couples.
Nephel, walked up behind Naomi and slipped his arms around her as she relaxed against him. The two stood apart from the revel and watched Zam and Adahna disappear up the path. He sighed, “So, we end and we begin, the circle continues. Will our home seem very quiet to you now?”
His wife looked up at him, “It will, for maybe six more months or so.” She smiled tenderly at his startled glance. Nephel placed his hand on her belly and lifted questioning brows. She laughed outright when, at her nod of affirmation, his expression turned smug and self-satisfied. “As you said, we end and we begin and the circle continues,” she whispered, and led him away to their temporarily quiet home.
Outside the village, on the outskirts of the forest, two boys struggled through the underbrush into the grass lands, cursing the load they carried between them. The first was tall and skinny with a dirty mop of blond hair and couldn’t have seen more than thirteen summers. The second was his opposite in everything but years. Short and stocky with a thatch of straight black hair, he might have been a year younger than his brother, but no more.
“They get heavier with every step,” Dan whined, smudging the sweat from his forehead with one pudgy hand and almost dropping the litter in the process.
The older brother, Abram, stumbled to a halt. “Hey! Be careful, you almost pulled us both down,” he snapped. He turned his back on the younger boy and surveyed the land ahead. A wide grassy plain stretched to the horizon, studded with rocky outcroppings and solitary boulders set wide apart as if scattered by a careless, giant hand. Far distant to his left he could see the dark smudge of another small forest such as the one his own village called home, but in between there was nothing but sky and rock and grass. He adjusted his grip on the litter handles and started walking again as Dan continued his complaints.
“Well, they do get heavier, and it’s hot out here. How far do we have to carry them anyway?”
“Father said to carry them beyond our borders,” Abram muttered. “Do you want to be the one to explain to him why we didn’t?”
“I still don’t see why we have to do it.” Dan’s nasal griping was getting on Abram’s nerves, mostly because he felt exactly the same way but could do nothing about it.
“Because we are second sons of the second wife, why else?” Resentment crouched behind the older boy’s eyes and moved across his expression in a sullen wave.
“We’re going to miss the whole party. And we don’t even get to keep the jewels or the gold.” Dan’s complaints continued unabated but Abram kept silent. He didn’t want to miss the party either, but what could they do? Father had said to destroy the idols outside their borders – he’d been very specific about it.
“Wait, Father said to take the statues outside the borders, right?”
Dan kicked at a stone and sent it skittering through the tall grass. “Yeah, and destroy both of them and scatter whatever is left, what of it?”
“But that’s all, right?” Abram looked at his younger brother with a glint in his eye. “He didn’t say when we had to do it, right? He didn’t say, “get it done today” or “do it right now,” right?”
“No,” Dan said slowly, a glimmer of understanding lighting his dull brown eyes.
“So…”
“So, we don’t have to do it today.”
“Right.”
“We could leave them out here and burn them tomorrow.”
“We could.”
“And then we could go to the party.”
“A worthy thought Dan,” Abram approved. “Now you’re talking sense.”
“But – what if…” Fear warred with greed in Dan’s eyes, but the greed needed little help to win.
“What if,” Abram whined mockingly. “What if what? What could happen to them out here?”
“Someone could steal them,” Dan countered, eager for once to hear his brother’s scornful reply. Abram did not disappoint him.
“Phaw! No chance of that. And even if they do, isn’t that all to the good? It’d save us from having to deal with them all together, right?”
A sly grin crossed Dan’s narrow features. “Where shall we leave them so we can find them again?”
Abram took a cursory glance around them. “This rock ought to do,” he cackled, and pulled his end of the carrier towards the rock, forcing Dan to follow. “Nice shady place for them to wait for their burning. Stupid old things,” he said.
The two boys dumped the idols unceremoniously in the shade of a large boulder, then took the doubtful added precaution of laying the litter over the statues and headed back to the wedding feast, dusting off their clothes and laughing as they went.
At the edge of the scrub that marked the beginning of the forest, Dan looked back over his shoulder, doubt clouding his face.
“What’s wrong brother?” Abram asked; his tone uncharacteristically solicitous in his good humor.
“Maybe we shouldn’t leave them like that. I mean, they’re supposed to be gods and all. What if they get mad?”
“Phaw, they’re just stupid lumps of metal with pretty bits for eyes; nothing to fear there or Father wouldn’t have had us burn them, but just in case, if it’ll make you feel better, we’ll bring them both a drink when we come back.” He clapped his brother on the back and urged him on. Dan laughed and turned back towards the village.
Behind them the litter slipped down, revealing one red, gleaming eye that watched the boys disappear into the foliage.
Chapter Thirteen
Look at it! Master had no need to send it. Vile thing, it will take all the blood for itself and Benat will starve.
A scaly hand ran sharp claws over his belly, imagining the tortures of future emptiness as he stole a furtive glance at the powerful demon who was accompanying him back to Fomor’s little village.
Molek must have gorged richly and often to have regained so much of his former self.
Great black wings, still featherless like those of a bat, but whole and unburned, spread over powerful shoulders unbent by pain. A multitude of scars crisscrossed the ashen skin in raised, white lines but the surface in between was smooth and supple. Molek was not tall, bu
t had a wrestler’s heavily muscled build. Surely that, and the chiseled features, made hunting an easier task, even without disguise.
Sable hair fell over the broad brow above blazing eyes, their blue the only color in an otherwise corpse-white countenance. His teeth were tiger sharp, the incisors longer than the rest, extending their vicious length a good half inch over his bottom lip. But hiding the paleness of Molek’s skin and the sharpness of his teeth would be a minor matter compared to the complete transformation Benat was forced to accomplish for each hunt. And the Master had put the nasty thing in charge of the plan, all because Molek’s wings still folded away properly where Benat could only accomplish a partial tattoo, leaving the rest of his wings to create an unsightly lump on his back, forcing him to walk hunched over like a cripple.
Still, it is not all bad. His maimed visage contorted into what Benat considered a smile as he recalled his last meal. The Master has been generous in his reward. The meat had been young, tender and its screams had added a piquant sauce to the meal. The blood had brought a great deal of healing to Benat so that now it no longer hurt to fly and, though still horrible to behold in his natural state, he now had strength enough to disguise his many deformities under a more pleasing form.
Also, as Molek’s assistant, surely there will be time for private hunting. Once his wings heal completely, Benat will be the usurper’s equal. Maybe he will even kill it! Benat glanced over at Molek again and cringed at the idea of a direct, physical, confrontation. Still, much might be accomplished with little risk if one was smart – even if one was not strong. He scraped his palms together in satisfaction. Yes, much might change if one was willing to have patience, to watch and wait and seize the moment when it presented itself.
“Come Benat. Our work awaits.” Molek’s frozen smile was perfectly formed and devoid of warmth or beauty.
Benat shivered. “I come,” he muttered and scurried along behind the larger demon, streaking upward into the night sky until the two were just darker shadows against the starless expanse of night.