Princess of Amathar

by Wesley Allison

  I stepped into the bathroom and self-consciously began to undress. I have never really been shy by nature, but that doesn’t mean that I am in the habit of undressing in front of someone I hardly known, especially in broad daylight, which was all one had in Ecos. Vena Remontar was busy washing herself and seemed to take very little notice of me. I quickly pulled off my jumpsuit and climbed over the edge of the tub. That is when I noticed that she was staring at me.

  “You are frighteningly pale,” she said.

  I quickly lowered myself into the warm water and could not help noticing that she was not frighteningly pale. Her dark blue shoulders poked out above the water and perfectly matched the dark but smooth skin of her face. I turned and busied myself soaping my face and arms and trying not to think of a frighteningly beautiful and frighteningly naked vision just a foot away, when I felt Vena Remontar’s hands on my shoulder. She was soaping my back for me. When she had finished, I submerged to rinse off.

  “I am done,” she said, climbing out of the tub.

  I could not help but notice the grace with which she did so, and the soft but muscular form which she presented on the way to her towel. She was really very...very... pleasant. She left the room to get dressed and I soaked for a little while before getting out myself. Once I had done so, and gotten dressed, the two of us made our way downstairs, stopping briefly at the desk, and then out the front door.

  "That bald man seemed to know you well," I observed, remembering the day before.

  "He is of the Holy Order," she explained. "It is his business to know everyone. This whole area is organized and run by the Holy Order from the Temple of Amath. They use the cream on their heads that I gave you for your face. It is traditional."

  We walked across the great expanse of the plaza toward the open end. A huge, ornately decorated, stone gate led the way into what lay beyond. From where I stood, it seemed that precious little lay beyond. It was a hilly scrub land, with stunted trees and large bushes. I could see no animal life. Vena Remontar and I reached the edge of the plaza, and stood watching, as a young Amatharian man stepped through the gate. A group of Holy Order Templars took note of his passage on small note pads.

  "This is the Garden of Souls," said Vena Remontar. "When a swordsman has become skilled, he feels drawn into the garden. There he must go, and remain until his soul finds him.

  "Are you hungry?" she asked.

  I nodded absentmindedly.

  "Let's get something to eat." The knight started toward a nearby restaurant, not looking back to see that I followed.

  I did not follow. I could not. From the moment we had stopped in front of the great gate, I had felt my muscles tighten and my stomach churn. It was as if my whole body was attempting to push me forward, through the gate. I tried to resist, but my own legs it seemed, were against me. For several moments I fought the compulsion--I pushed back against myself. I wondered what could be drawing me toward the rugged landscape beyond, and then I remembered the story of the souls. What if my own soul were calling be from beyond the border of the garden. But how could this be. I was a stranger here, an alien in fact. How could I have a soul awaiting me here, in the middle of this strange city of Amathar. One last time, I attempted to push myself away from the gate, but I couldn’t. I was drawn with a force that I could not understand, toward what could only be my soul, luring me to my destiny. What did it want?

  More specifically, what did it want with me?

  I crossed the border into the garden, seeing in the corner of my eye that the templars took careful note of my passage. Suddenly I heard Vena Remontar's frantic voice calling from behind me.

  "Alexander Ashton! Alexander Ashton! You don't understand!” she cried. “You don't know! Once you cross into the Garden, you cannot come out again! To come out without your knighthood, is the greatest disgrace!"

  I waved to acknowledge her. I could see a kind of fear in her face, even at this distance. I have often jumped into something without thinking, and I resigned myself to the fact that this was probably just such an occasion, though it didn’t quite seem fair that I should bear all the burden, drawn as I was without my consent. I was compelled beyond my ability to refuse. I saw that Vena Remontar stepped over to speak with the group of templars, no doubt to plead that I was only an ignorant savage. I didn't watch to see the outcome, but turned and made my way into the wilderness.

  I had walked a mile or more, when I turned to look back. The gate was no longer visible, lying beyond a small hill that I had crossed without really thinking about it. In fact, I could no longer see the city in any direction, though I knew that it lay all around me. I didn't know how large the Garden of Souls was, but there was a small mountain rising up ahead of me, so I headed toward it. I know it must have been a number of miles, but it seemed that I crossed the distance and climbed up the mountain, in no time at all. When I reached the summit I looked down into a small valley surrounding a blue pool. It was not the most beautiful valley that I had ever seen, but is seemed a nice place to await my soul. I was unsure as to just what I was really waiting for. I knew that the Amatharians met their souls here, but just what was a soul? I could only think of the soul as a mystical force, as in the Judeo-Christian sense of the word, but I knew that the Amatharian soul was different. For one thing, not everyone had one. For another, I knew there was some physical manifestation. There was a force of some kind which made the remiant's sword glow and cut through anything. I had seen it myself.

  I sat down on the ground, below a small tree, beside the blue pool. Try as I might, I just couldn’t feel fearful about what I had done. Any sane person would, I suppose. I had stepped into a life or death situation without any thought at all. If I came out without a soul I would be disgraced and would be forced to leave the only friends that I knew in this world. If I didn’t come out at all, I would die where I sat. Still, I wasn’t sad or afraid or unhappy. I was fine. At least that’s how I remember it. A slight breeze picked up, and blew low clouds in to block out the sun. I leaned on my right hand, and felt something smooth beneath my palm. Looking down to see what it was, I saw a partially buried skull grinning back at me. I slowly looked around, and for the first time noticed that the ground around the little pool was littered with bones, some with decomposing flesh still hanging upon them. Here were the remains of those who failed to find their souls. I suddenly felt my stomach sink and my loins tighten. Here was the fear that had failed to manifest itself up until this point. I should say two fears, for there were two distinct emotions, and I didn’t know which was causing me the most anxiety--the fear that I would die here, or the fear that I would prove unworthy and drag myself from the garden in disgrace. These thoughts were still occupying my mind when I noticed a small flame directly in front of me. Something on the ground had caught fire. The fire was the size one would expect from a freshly filled cigarette lighter or five or six wood matches lit together, though I couldn't quite tell what was on fire. Nothing seemed to be consumed by the blaze. Then the little fire hopped toward me, leaving nothing scorched in its wake, and stopped within arms reach. At the same time, I felt a tickling sensation on the surface of my scalp. I had the impression of thinking a thought, or smelling a smell, or reading a word which I could not quite identify.

  "You are my soul," I said, a feeling of awe coming over me.

  The little flame burned and I continued to have the tickling sensation in my head, which continued until it became an itching and then an aching.

  "What do I do now?" I asked, though I didn’t know to whom I had directed the question. As if in answer, a vague thought penetrated my brain. "Open your sword." I drew my long sword and carefully unwrapped the hilt, and opened the small compartment there. The soul hopped into the compartment and for a fraction of a second, my sword blade glowed the way that I had seen Norar Remontar's glow so many times. Then just as quickly, the sword faded, and the little soul fire shrank to a faint flicker.

  "Close the sword." It came as almost a complete t
hought.

  I closed and wrapped the hilt, sheathed the blade, and started back toward the great plaza. It took me far longer to get out than it had to get in, because I got lost. One cannot overestimate the importance of astronomical observation in guiding one's course. Unfortunately in Ecos, there was only one astronomical object, and it always stayed right above us. Finally, I found my bearings and reached the great gate at the entrance to the garden.

  Standing at the entrance, looking quite unhappy, was Vena Remontar. As soon a she saw me passing through the structure, she began shouting and trying to push me back.

  "You can't give up so soon!" she shouted. "Go back. You cannot accept failure so quickly."

  "But I didn't fail," I tried to explain.

  "Give me your weapon," said one of the templars, stepping forward. I drew my sword to hand it to him. The way he lunged toward the sword though, made me realize that his was not a friendly act. Before I could move to defend myself the new soul in my sword sprang to life in a fantastically bright blaze of blue white. The man jumped back, eyes wide. His companions began to mutter to themselves and scribble furiously on their little note pads. The first fellow I must say recovered himself well. After making sure his hand was intact, he bowed low to me.

  "Forgive me, Remiant Alexander Ashton," he said.

  "How did you know my name?" I asked, nodding back.

  "It is the business of the Holy Order to know who enters and leaves the Garden of Souls. You are requested to visit the High Templar at your convenience."

  "I cannot believe it," Vena Remontar gave me a hug. "That is the fastest presentation that I have ever heard of. You barely entered the garden, and you are already back with your soul." She hugged me again.

  "I am sure that it seemed a much shorter time to you than it did to anyone else," I asserted.

  "Come knight," she laughed. "Let's get something to eat." This she led me to the restaurant, and this time I followed. We sat and talked, though I recall nothing of what we said, and I don't remember what we ate either. There was a lot going through my mind. Here I was, a stranger in a strange land, and surrounded by millions of people from an alien culture, trapped in a strange world, and in love with a woman I had never met. Now I was somehow attached to a tiny energy creature that had as yet unknown powers.

  Chapter Sixteen: The Temple of Amath

  After we had eaten, we walked across the great plaza to the stepped pyramid which was the Temple of Amath. Vena Remontar told me that an invitation from the High Templar was something to be acted upon promptly. The great structure was most impressive. It was more than a mile wide, and was over two thousand feet tall. It looked as though it had been built by a giant boy playing with his blocks, placing successively smaller blocks one atop another until he had built a pyramid of steps. Each of the steps was over one hundred feet tall, and there were twenty one of them. The entire surface was carved in intricate designs, so finely detailed that not a single inch of blank wall could be found on the outside. Running up the front of the temple was a set of broad steps which led to the tenth level, where there was a large, dark entrance.

  My friend and I walked up the many steps to the doorway. Waiting here was a small crowd of templars, each with his bald head. Some were writing in their pads, others were about other business. It may seem odd that the templars were engaged in so much writing, until one considers the extent to which Amatharians in general were fond of the written word. Amatharians had no telephone, but wrote letters every day, even to friends they were likely to see often. To a certain extent, the spoken language of these people was divorced from the written, and the written form allowed them much more freedom of expression.

  One of the shaven fellows took charge, or had been left in charge, and guided us from the open greeting area, into a large chamber. It was much like one would expect a very large church or cathedral to look like, not that I'm an expert, but it had no rows of pews or any other seating. The walls were colorfully decorated and large bright banners hung from the ceiling. Of course huge numbers of templars buzzed here and there, taking notes, examining the scenes depicted on the walls, and staring at the shrine in the center of the hall.

  The shrine took my breath away. Not because it was big, though it was that. Not because it was carefully inlaid with precious stones and highly polished gold and silver, though it was. It quite knocked the breath from my lungs because the symbol on the great shrine was an A. I don't mean it was an Amatharian A. It was an honest to god, Greco-Roman, American English, Times font type A!

  "That's an A!" I shouted.

  The entire population of the hall turned and looked at us.

  "That's an A," I said.

  "Show some respect, knight," growled Vena Remontar. "Keep your voice down."

  "That's an A," I whispered.

  "You are correct, knight." A voice came from behind us.

  We turned to see an older Amatharian man dressed in the brown robes of the templars, and wearing a large silver medallion with the letter A on it. Vena Remontar bowed low and I followed suit.

  "I am Kurar Ka Remiant Oldon Domintus," said the man, identifying himself as an overlord. "I am the High Templar."

  "It is an honor to meet you, I'm sure," I said. "That is an A?"

  "Yes, you are quite correct. That is an A."

  "Well. How did it get here?"

  "Before we answer any of your questions," the Overlord said, "you have a great many things to do for us."

  Oldon Domintus turned and led the two of us across the great hall to a doorway opposite that through which we had come. Beyond the chamber was a great long corridor. This hallway was lined with pictures painted in the bright colors: pictures of Amatharian knights engaged in battles, pictures of templars performing rituals in the great plaza, pictures of great buildings being constructed in Amathar. The High Templar maintained the image of a man showing friends around his home.

  "Has Vena Remontar told you about our temple?"

  "I'm afraid she has not yet had time."

  "This temple was built three hundred generations ago. Construction was begun under the direction of Amath himself. He envisioned a monument to his people where they could look for guidance. It was built here beside the Garden of Souls, so that those feeling the draw of their souls could reflect.

  "You felt no need to reflect before entering the garden?" he asked me.

  "I've always been a pretty spontaneous fellow," I replied.

  "So it seems."

  We finally arrived at our destination, which was a small room just off the far end of the corridor. The walls of the room were covered with warm comfortable colors, but the lack of pictures seemed odd, having been surrounded by them in the other temple rooms. One large chair sat at one end of the room facing six chairs at the other end.

  "We wish you to undergo examination," said the High Templar.

  "Oh?"

  "It will not be painful."

  "And what if I refuse?" I asked.

  "No one is forced to undergo examination," he replied. "Of course, you should remember that yours is a unique position in our society. You are now a remiant, but you are an alien. You have no family to maintain your position in our culture."

  "He has friends," said Vena Remontar, a frown forming on her face.

  "Your loyalty does you credit," said Oldon Domintus, "but you should know that no harm will come to him.

  "There is much we must learn from you," he said turning to me. "About where you come from. About who you are."

  "I will be fine," I assured Vena Remontar. "Go back to the rest house, and I will join you when I'm finished."

  "He will indeed," said the High Templar.

  Vena Remontar stood where she was for a moment, staring into the eyes of the High Templar. Any other man might have melted under such a scrutiny, but Oldon Domintus stared calmly back. At last, she turned on her heel and left, though the frown remained on her face. She was a very good friend to be so concerned about me. Once she ha
d gone, the High Templar directed me to sit in the solitary chair. Six templars entered and were introduced by Oldon Domintus, though I can't remember any of their names now. They sat down, and I sat down, and the High Templar left the room.

  "What is your name?" asked the first questioner.

  "Alexander Ashton."

  "Where are you from?" asked the second questioner, before I was able to take a breath after answering the first question.

  "The United States of America, Planet Earth."

  "How did you come to Ecos?" This time the question came before I had finished answering.

  "What did you do there?"

  "Who controlled the army?"

  "How many people lived there?"

  "How are the children named?"

  "Do they use a medium of exchange?"

  "What dangerous animals live there?"

  "Does everyone in Earth carry a sword?"

  The questions came fast and furious. They gave me no chance to stop and think about anything I said. The questions were initially about my life on Earth, what Earth was like, and what society and organization on Earth was like, but then they led off into my adventures in Ecos, my thoughts and impressions of Amathar, and the friends I had met here. Finally one of the templars asked the last question.

  "Who do you love?"

  "What?" I asked.

  "Who do you love?"

  "What kind of question is that?"

  "It is a question we wish answered."

  "Well, I don't intend to answer it," I stood up. "In fact I don't intend to answer any more questions at all."

  As if by magic, the High Templar re-entered the room, and dismissed the questioners with a wave of his hand. I felt as if I had undergone some sort of torture, so weak and tired and sweaty was I. By this time I had quite forgotten any questions that I might have had for them. All I wanted to do was go back to the rest house and fall into a deep sleep. My last sleep on the comfortable bed there seemed as though it had occurred a month ago.

  "You may go for now, Remiant Alexander Ashton," said the Temple Overlord. "We shall call upon you again."