by D. J. Butler
Maltres’s voice was firm, but Bill was far enough to the side to be able to see tears trickling down his pock-marked cheek.
“With becoming reverence let us supplicate the Divine Grace, whose goodness and power know no bounds. That, on the arrival of the momentous hour, our faith may remove the clouds of doubt, draw aside the sable curtains of the hidden world beyond, and bid hope sustain and cheer the departing spirit on its journey into the world of undying love.
“Zadok Tarami, Metropolitan of the Basilica of Cahokia, has agreed to offer up a prayer in the capacity of chaplain pro tempore.”
Maltres stepped slowly back from the edge of the platform and sat.
Zadok Tarami stood. In the stiffness of his motions and the slow, hobbling speed of his walk, he looked to Bill as if he’d aged twenty years in twenty minutes. The old man gazed slowly at all the faces before him. At first, his eyes looked wary, but as he looked, he grew in confidence and started to nod. Finally, he raised both arms skyward and began to declaim.
“Most glorious Father! Author of all good, and Giver of all mercy! Pour down Thy blessing upon us, we beseech Thee, and strengthen our solemn engagements with the ties of sincere affection! Endue us with fortitude and resignation in this hour of sorrow, and grant that this dispensation from Thy hands may be sanctified in its results upon the hearts of those who now meet to mourn! May the present instance of mortality draw our attention toward Thee, the only refuge in time of need. Enable us to look with eyes of Faith toward that realm whose skies are never darkened by sorrow; and after our departure hence in peace and in Thy favor, may we be received into Thy everlasting kingdom, to enjoy the just reward of a virtuous and well-spent life. Amen!”
“Amen,” the crowd answered.
“May we always remember, Father, the words of Thy son, when the lawyer tempted him. ‘Master,’ the trap-setting hypocrite said, ‘which is the great commandment in the law?’ Jesus said unto him, ‘Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.’” Tarami paused. The crowd seemed to be holding its breath. “Not, we notice, ‘the second is almost as important,’ but ‘like unto it.’ May we always remember in our hearts that the second commandment and the first are equals. That the second commandment is a helpmeet for the first. May we love our neighbor as ourself, O God, from this day forth. Amen!”
“Amen!” The crowd’s answer rose in volume and enthusiasm.
“And may it be fitting in Thy sight,” Tarami continued, “that we not enter into Thy kingdom at this time. Our brothers and sisters have laid their lives down on the altar. Can there be greater love than this? Your eternal word, O Father, assures us that there cannot! May their final sacrifice, and may all the sacrifices we have made to this great and terrible day, be sufficient in Thy sight! We are sinners, Father, and we repent! We beg thee to turn away from us the face of Thy wrath, and direct it instead toward those who would rob of us our wealth, tear from us our lives, and pry peace from our hearts with their acts of terror! Liberate us from the destroyer, O glorious God! As our brothers and sisters died to give us life, may we live to give You glory! Amen!”
“Amen!” the crowd shouted.
Tarami moved back, vigor again in his step. Maltres rose and put his arm around the priest’s shoulders. Despite their difference in height, the priest didn’t appear small standing beside the vizier. “So mote it be!” Korinn cried.
The singers, and many men in the crowd, responded as one. “So mote it be!”
The choir broke into another song, this time in English, and more melodic:
Blest morning, whose young dawning rays
Beheld our rising God,
That saw Him triumph o’er the dust,
And leave His dark abode!
The song continued for several verses. Tarami sat, and Bill looked at the priest’s face. The man beamed, but not with the smug energy of fanaticism. He looked relaxed and happy.
Noticing Bill’s gaze, Tarami reached across and patted his knee.
When the singing ended, Maltres resumed. Having set aside the scroll, he now held a wooden box. “Our sisters and brothers have been raised in that eternal Lodge which no time can close. In that Heavenly Sanctuary, the Unbroken Light, unmingled with darkness, will reign unbroken and perpetual. There, under the protection of the All-Seeing Eye, amid the smiles of Immutable Love, in that house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens—there, my brethren, may Almighty God in His infinite mercy grant that we may meet again, to part no more.”
He removed a masonic apron from the box and turned from left to right, displaying it to the crowd. “Those of you who have not been raised within the Craft may have wondered at the aprons we have placed upon our dead. The Apron of Eden is an emblem of innocence and the badge of a Mason; we of the Ohio Rite make them of green and gold. Green for the leaves of the tree of life, and gold for the crowns that Eve and Adam wore. More ancient than the Golden Fleece or the Roman Eagle, more honorable than the Star or Garter or any distinction that can be conferred by king, prince, potentate or any other person, the apron was worn by our first parents in their first home. By it we are continually reminded of that purity of life and conduct so essentially necessary to gain admission into the great lodge above, the Royal Celestial Lodge, number one, where the Supreme Grand Master of the Universe forever presides.”
Korinn replaced the apron and pulled out an evergreen sprig, which he in turn showed the crowd. “Moses furnished his tabernacle with gold and acacia wood. The great ark of Israel was built of acacia. Onandagos’s staff was carved of this same sacred wood. This evergreen is an emblem of our enduring faith in the Immortality of the Soul. By it we are reminded that we have an imperishable part within us, which shall survive all earthly existence, and which will never, never die. Through the loving goodness of our Supreme Grand Master, we may confidently hope that, like this Evergreen, our souls will hereafter flourish in eternal spring.
“We shall ever cherish in our hearts the memory of our departed sisters and brothers. They sacrificed their lives for us. Commending their spirits to Almighty Heaven, we leave them in the hands of those Beneficent Beings who have done all things well; who are glorious in Their Holiness, wondrous in Their Power, and boundless in Their Goodness; and it should always be our endeavor so to live that we too may be found worthy to inherit the land prepared for us from the foundation of the world.”
Maltres again retreated, and Alzbieta Torias rose. She walked forward to the edge of the platform and knelt, touching her forehead to the wood. When she raised her face again, she looked skyward and prayed.
“O Mother of All Living, hear Thou our prayer! We came into this Thy world through Thy womb, and we know we live here at Thy sufferance. We are grateful for every breath, for every falling drop of rain, for every mouthful of corn that we have from Thee. In all that we do, may the glory be Thine!”
Zadok Tarami stood, and Bill felt his own muscles tighten. He didn’t see a weapon on the old man, but he didn’t put it past the priest to attack Alzbieta with his bare hands. Out of respect for the funeral, Bill had climbed the platform without a weapon. He regretted it now.
“O Mother of All Living, hear Thou our prayer!” Alzbieta continued. Zadok Tarami knelt beside her, but she continued as if she didn’t see him. “We return our loved ones now into Thy womb. What rebirths they shall experience, in this life and with Thee in Thine Unfallen Eden, give us joy. We are grateful for their lives and for their final gift, and we ask Thee to receive them.”
Tarami joined her for her final line, raising his hands to the sky just as she did: “O Mother of All Living, hear Thou our prayer!”
The chorus had somehow obtained shovels. Alzbieta and Zadok stood, and all the others on the platform with them joined them in standing, Bill included. They bowed their heads, and so did the crowd. Bill removed his hat and held it
to his chest as the chorus solemnly approached the graves, three men per grave, and methodically shoveled in dirt until the bodies were covered and the holes were filled.
Everyone on the platform remained standing, but Maltres spoke again. “Soft and safe, my sisters and brothers, be your resting place! Bright and glorious be your rising from it, now and in the eternities! Fragrant be the acacia sprig that there shall flourish! May the earliest buds of spring unfold their beauties over your resting place, and there may the sweetness of the summer’s last rose linger longest! Though the winds of Autumn may destroy the loveliness of their existence, yet the destruction is not final, and in the springtime, they shall surely bloom again. So, in the bright morning of the resurrection, thy spirit shall spring into newness of life and expand in immortal beauty, in realms beyond the skies. Until then, dear sisters and brothers, until then, farewell!”
“The Lord bless us and keep us!” Yedera said, speaking for the first time. Her face was serene. “The Lady make Her face to shine upon us, and be gracious unto us! Heaven lift upon us the light of Its countenance and give us peace! Amen!”
“Amen!” the crowd repeated.
“So mote it be!” cried Maltres and the other masons.
“One people,” Bill muttered to himself. “Many ways, but one people.”
The crowd fell silent. The sun finally disappeared behind the cloud cover above, and the fiery orange light that had accompanied most of the funeral winked instantly into a cold blue.
Sorrow anchored Bill’s legs into place, but he also found a kind of relief. Alzbieta and Zadok seemed reconciled, and somehow it was thanks to Maltres Korinn and the authority of his Freemasonry. At the same time, the cost had been high, both in lives lost and, for Bill, a growing sense of dread.
The self-slaughter of Sherem and a few like-minded souls had given Cahokia brief respite from her besiegers. What would happen the next time the guns began to fire?
Would others volunteer to sacrifice themselves?
And if they didn’t, would the city command sacrifices? Would it slaughter its slaves, at least the ones who were Firstborn?
Bill had the uncomfortable sensation that a dark line had been crossed. An ancient taboo had been broken. He feared there was worse to come.
“General,” Gazelem Zomas murmured in his ear. “What’s that?”
Gazelem pointed, and Bill saw something that might have been a bird, only it was coming on too fast and getting too large. It might be a projectile weapon, only he’d heard no cannon fire.
It was headed right for the crowd.
He hated to break the charm that had ended the funeral, but he had no choice. “Take cover!” he bellowed. “Step aside!”
He grabbed the Heron King’s horn at his side and blew a three-tone sequence, three times, to summon Sarah’s beastkind.
The flying object shifted angle. Was it a board? It seemed to be slowing, as well.
Chikaak entered the clearing at a run, with several beastkind at his heels. Bill nodded at them and rejoined Cathy in the crowd. His lady had been holding his pistols in a carpet bag, and she now handed it over.
“If this is an attack,” Bill told her, “be prepared to take cover.”
“With you to defend me?” Cathy smiled. “Never.”
The object missed the actual graves and came to earth in the street. It struck and then skidded a hundred feet, digging a furrow and throwing shattered cobblestones in all directions. Bill shielded his eyes from the flying debris with his hand. When the grinding sound stopped and he looked again, what he saw made his heart leap.
The object was a rowboat.
Sarah stepped out of the boat. She wobbled on her feet from fatigue. Luman Walters and Montserrat Ferrer i Quintana emerged from the boat with her and held her up, one to each side.
Sarah looked around. “I am glad you’re all here,” she said. “I’m going to need your help.”
Then she fainted.
“Believe it or not, that was the easy part.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sarah awoke to bright daylight and the smell of squash cooked with raisins and molasses. She recognized the room; she lay in her sleeping chamber beneath the Temple of the Sun.
She sat up—too quickly, and it made her head spin. She rolled over and pressed her forehead to the cool stone of the wall, breathing in deeply.
“I need Zarok Tarami,” she said. She could hear other people in the room, though her vision spun too wildly for her to actually look and see who they were. “And Maltres Korinn.”
“They’re both waiting above.” The voice was Alzbieta Torias’s. “Though I’d feel better if you took some food, or maybe a little wine, and went back to sleep.”
“I’m fasting.” Sarah snaked an uncertain foot to the floor, pressed to confirm that the world had stopped revolving, and then stood. She wore a linen sleeping gown. “I can’t have slept long. I feel like if I just shut my eyes I could sleep a whole year, right now.”
“Two hours,” Alzbieta said.
“Take me to the Vizier and the Metropolitan,” Sarah said. “I want to see both of them together. Please.”
Alzbieta herself looked tired, her face lined with deep grooves. She nodded with something like a faint smile of recognition playing around the corners of her mouth, then handed Sarah her dragoon’s coat. With slow steps, Sarah shuffled along the corridor and up the steps that took her into the long nave of the Temple of the Sun. There Alzbieta helped her into a wooden chair that seemed to have been placed there for the purpose. Then the priestess led in the two men Sarah wanted to see.
“Gentlemen.” She had intended to stand, which would at least put her eye to eye with Tarami, though she’d still have to look up to meet the eyes of the Duke of Na’avu. But she found she didn’t have the strength. “I came expecting cannon fire, and instead I walk in on Freemasonry. You gittin’ yourself raised in the Ohio Rite, Father Tarami?”
Zadok smiled. “Not yet. But after this morning, I’m thinking about it.”
“Imperial artillery arrived and began bombarding us,” Maltres said. “Your Majesty’s gift of sight showed you that.”
Sarah nodded.
“A party of raiders, four Unborn Daughters of Podebradas, went over the wall in the middle of the night and spiked the guns. With their sacrifice, we have gained time. Perhaps as little as a day, perhaps more. This morning, we buried the three who died.”
Sarah’s mouth was dry as cured tobacco. “Yedera?”
“Yedera is the one who lived, Your Majesty.” Maltres bowed slightly.
Sarah nodded.
“And there are others who gave their lives, as well.”
“Killed on the wall?” Sarah asked.
Maltres shook his head, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. No tears trickled down his cheeks, but his face twisted into a mask of anguish.
“They sacrificed themselves,” Zadok Tarami said slowly. “Following with great courage in the footsteps of the Lord Christ. Their deaths gave power to the spells that sent the Daughters over the wall, disguised them and propelled them against the Imperial guns.”
A wave of nausea took Sarah. She leaned forward, grateful to be sitting, and coughed and retched. “Sherem?”
Maltres nodded. “Did he tell you he planned this?”
Sarah shook her head. “But he was thinking about it. He and others. They were aiming to sanctify Jock of Cripplegate. Who, as I understood it, was a burglar and deserved the hanging he got.”
“There are painful ironies here.” Zadok nodded heavily.
Something was troubling Maltres Korinn; she saw a cloud on his aura. “What is it, Vizier?”
Maltres smiled ruefully. “I cannot conceal my thoughts from you, Beloved. We have arrested a traitor in your absence. You will remember Voldrich? He was one of the candidates—”
“I remember,” Sarah said. “The landowner. Was he the one who told the Imperials we were going to send out messengers?”
&n
bsp; Maltres nodded.
“You haven’t killed him yet, so you’re waiting for me to decide?”
The Vizier nodded again. “There is a faction that would happily hang him without trial. While I sympathize, I have merely detained him.”
Sarah hesitated.
Forgiveness, her father had said. He wished he had forgiven more.
“Send him over to his friends,” she said. “Tell him all his lands are forfeit, and all his other wealth. We’re taking it all. If he sets foot in the city, I’ll have him hanged. You need Notaries to back you up on this?”
“I’ll get them.”
“I’ll sign,” Zadok said. “This is an act of great mercy.”
Sarah sat silently. She felt time slide past her like honey, slow and nearly opaque. Finally, she had to give word to her thoughts. “I must make a sacrifice.”
The two men held their breaths.
“I asked Alzbieta to bring you in because I need both of you. All three of you. Alzbieta, stop hiding back there and join the conversation.”
“Your Majesty.” Alzbieta stepped forward.
“I need the power of the Serpent Throne,” Sarah said. “I can see the power there. Great as the power of the Mississippi is, the power in the Serpent Throne is just as mighty. Perhaps mightier. My father never tapped into that power, because the temple was unconsecrated in his day.”
Zadok Tarami hung his head. Was that a good sign? Had the sharp edges of his zeal rubbed off?
“I have met and spoken with my father,” Sarah said.
Alzbieta gasped. Sarah remembered that the priestess had once been an intimate of her father, and maybe his lover.
“His shade, at least,” Sarah said. “My brother connected me with my father on the Serpent Mound.”
“Who is your brother?” Maltres’s expression bordered on awe.
“He…I don’t know quite how to explain this, but Nathaniel can hear things, and he can travel to strange places. Including places where the spirits of the dead linger. My father gave me some of the advice I needed about the Temple of the Sun. Though I reckon I could just as easily have read my Homer, or the Book of Kings. I need to offer a sacrifice.”