The Sword

by Bryan M. Litfin

  “Me too,” Lina said meekly.

  Ana rose from her seat. “It makes no sense at all,” she said firmly, “and I’ll tell you why.”

  “Go ahead, Anastasia.” Maurice motioned for Valent to sit.

  “First of all, why are we making this so complex when it doesn’t need to be? The narrative should be understood plainly, not according to secret symbols. It’s obvious: Deu was angry at the sin. He says, ‘Because you did such and such, here is the curse I’m implementing.’ Second, we cannot doubt that Deu takes sin seriously. In fact, I believe he requires blood sacrifice in exchange for it. Remember when Adam and Eve were cast out of the garden? God clothed them with animal skins. Notice that their sin required the death of an animal.”

  Sucula spoke up for the first time. “I don’t think that point is emphasized in the text, Anastasia.”

  “I agree it’s not entirely clear,” Ana countered. “But let me tell you something I discovered about Deu in his temple.” The community fell silent as Ana described the two murals she had seen on the temple’s rear wall in which several men were depicted offering sacrifices, and a heavenly hand reached down to accept them. “I believe Deu is a God who hates sin and requires sacrifice,” she concluded.

  “That’s a powerful idea,” Helena said.

  “Nevertheless, I think it’s incorrect.” Sucula stared at Ana. “The way my husband explained it offers us hope—hope that we might one day achieve inner enlightenment. But if Anastasia is right, there is no hope, just the endless repetition of bloody sacrifices.”

  Ana held her ground. “Didn’t you hear what Deu said to the woman? He told her she would be in conflict with the serpent. The serpent would bite the woman’s descendant on the heel, but the descendant would crush the serpent’s head! See? There is hope in this passage.”

  Sucula folded her hands in her lap. “Maybe you’re right,” she said demurely. “I’m just a visitor here. What do I know?”

  The community sat back and took a collective breath. “We will consider this important matter and discuss it another time,” Maurice said. His words signaled that the evening was concluded, so everyone finished their cider and rose to find their cloaks.

  Outside in the bright moonlight, the group began to disperse. The temperature had dipped below freezing, and the wind had picked up. Maurice tightened his hood and started down the trail toward Lekovil, accompanied by Lewth, Teo, and Shaphan.

  “Professor Teofil! Could you wait a moment?” Sucula approached the four men in the snow, her breath coming in little white puffs that swirled around her head.

  “Yes? What is it?”

  “Uh, I just wanted to say how much I appreciate your translation work. I know you spent a lot of time doing it, and I’m sure it’s not easy. So I’m . . . I’m grateful to you.” She put her hand on Teo’s arm.

  “It’s a labor I enjoy,” he said. “But thanks. You’re kind to mention it.”

  A gust of wind blasted down the mountainside, staggering Sucula under its force. “That wind is so bitter!” she exclaimed.

  “Your cloak is too thin, Sucula. Where’s Valent?”

  “Oh, right, Valent . . .” She fiddled with a lock of her hair. “He, uh, he had to go up to his cabin on the trapline tonight. Again.” There was a note of exasperation in her voice.

  “Where do you live?”

  She explained where her home was. “I think I can make it. Really. I’ll be okay.”

  “That’s a long walk. You’ll freeze. The wind saps your warmth.”

  Sucula snapped her head toward Teo, her eyes wide. “Hey, I have an idea! Perhaps you could accompany me. To make sure I get home safely?”

  Maurice cleared his throat. “Teo, my son, it’s getting late. The University’s gate will soon be locked for the night. Wisdom would dictate you come with us. Sucula knows her way home.”

  Teo sighed. He unbuttoned his bearskin cloak and wrapped it around Sucula’s shoulders, fastening it securely at her neck. “That should keep you warm until you get home,” he said.

  She leaned forward and said something in Teo’s ear, causing him to nod at her uncertainly.

  “Good night, Sucula,” Maurice said. “May Deu go with you.” He waited as she turned toward her house, while his own group started down the other path toward Lekovil. Lewth led the way, followed by Shaphan, then Teo, who hunched his shoulders and crossed his arms over his chest in the biting wind. Maurice remained in one place as he watched each person leave.

  “Sometimes, Teo, you’re too noble,” he said under his breath.

  Maurice turned and looked back at the chalet one last time. A slim figure stood at the window. Suddenly the curtains were drawn shut with a jerk.

  The old professor shook his head and moved to catch up to his companions.

  CHAPTER

  10

  Dawn was Astrebril’s time. He had chosen it, sanctified it, and claimed it as his own, for it symbolized his triumph over apparent defeat. Long ago, in the age of the Ancients’ great war, he had almost been forgotten. His mighty power was curtailed, forcing him to manipulate events behind the scenes. Few worshiped him openly. But now in Chiveis, Astrebril had once again achieved the rank of supreme deity. Like the sun waxing in the morning sky, his glorious reign would nevermore be broken. Or at least, such were the teachings Princess Habiloho had learned during her training as an acolyte.

  Habiloho stared at the flame of a single candle whose flickering glow cast eerie shadows on the idol niches of the chapel at the High Priestess’s temple. Though she was supposed to be meditating before the altar, Habiloho was too weary to focus. Her strict fast the day before and her sleepless vigil through the night had left her in a state of exhaustion. Outside the window, a gray light had begun to grow in the east. Habiloho had been told to expect a momentous event when the dawn finally came, though she had no idea what it would be. She awaited that magic hour with trepidation and desire.

  The chapel door creaked open, though no one had touched it.

  “Who’s there?” Habiloho rose from her kneeling position at the altar, tiptoed to the door, and peeked out. The hallway was empty. She sighed and slumped against the door frame.

  “Come!” said a voice behind her. Habiloho shrieked and spun around.

  The High Priestess of Chiveis stood beside the altar, her white face stark against the gloom. Habiloho trembled as the priestess approached. A smoky, herbal aroma emanated from her body.

  “You must learn to access the revelations of Astrebril, young acolyte,” the High Priestess intoned. “Come with me.”

  Habiloho followed the High Priestess behind a tapestry on the wall. It led through a secret portal to a spiral staircase. The two worshippers ascended the stairs, rising higher and higher as the tower reached toward Astrebril’s face. Habiloho’s thighs burned with the exertion of so many steps. Just when she thought she would have to stop and take a rest, they reached an oaken door. Habiloho panted against the wall as the High Priestess turned a key in the lock.

  “Enter the sacred chamber,” said the High Priestess. She did not seem at all winded by the climb.

  The circular room had four windows and a table with some implements on it, yet its most prominent feature was the great pit at its center. Smoke rose from it, exiting through a hole in the roof. Chains attached to a windlass hung from the ceiling. Habiloho could feel her heart thumping in her chest.

  “If you are to be a priestess of Astrebril, you must learn how to contact the heavenly spirits,” the High Priestess said. “Do exactly as you are told and you will survive, though the experience will terrify you, as it should.”

  Two blond effeminates entered the room. One took Habiloho’s shoes and set them aside. The other handed her a goblet of red wine. He instructed her to drink it while he gathered the chains from the ceiling and brought them near. At the ends of the chains were manacles, which the eunuchs fastened to Habiloho’s wrists when she finished drinking.

  “In time you will learn t
o hold yourself in place of your own volition,” the High Priestess said. “Until then we must bind you.”

  Habiloho realized she was about to be lowered into the pit. Her knees buckled as she was overcome by a wave of terror. “I . . . I can’t do this!” she pled.

  “You must.” The High Priestess pushed her into the pit, and the nightmare began.

  Habiloho dangled by her wrists, raw fear clawing at her gut. The manacles gouged her skin as they supported her entire weight. A tiny orange light danced far below in the abyss. She gasped and coughed as the sickly sweet smoke engulfed her, cloying her nostrils, fogging her brain. The sensation of vastness beneath her toes made Habiloho want to scream, but she choked back her cries of terror lest she call forth the wrath of some underworld spirit. Lights and colors swirled around her. Sometimes they congealed into leering faces; other times they flitted about like pestering imps. Habiloho kicked her legs wildly as she struggled against the shapeless beings.

  An angel with yellow eyes, sharp fangs, and great wings spread out like a dragon materialized out of the darkness. He extended his clawed hand, and Habiloho found herself willing to receive him. As she did, a more serene feeling came to her—a thrilling, frightening, exhilarating pleasure. She lost awareness of the world above. Time slid by uncontrolled. Finally, in the dreamlike state of her trance, she could feel herself being hauled up and loosened from her manacles.

  The princess was led to a table. She leaned on it with both hands as her head swam. From what seemed to be a great distance, the High Priestess spoke in sluggish, distorted words. “The god will not give unless he first receives.” She drew a razor across Habiloho’s arm. A delicious, burning pain radiated from the crimson trail left by the steel edge. It made Habiloho feel alive.

  “Take the quill and write,” the High Priestess commanded.

  Habiloho took a deep breath and tried to focus her thoughts. Finding a quill in her hand, she set it to a piece of parchment. Her hand seemed to move of its own accord as she scrawled some words with the ink of her own blood.

  “Read it.”

  Habiloho squinted. The words were indistinct.

  “Read it!” the High Priestess insisted.

  “I think it says . . .” Habiloho bent to the page and tried to discern what was written there. “He who comes . . . with the sword . . .” She blinked and shook her head, trying to clear her blurry vision.

  “FINISH!”

  “. . . is—is in your midst.”

  The High Priestess snarled and whirled from the table. As she strode past the eunuch standing on the edge of the pit, she shoved him hard in the back, and he tumbled into its infinite depths with a terrified, fading scream. Grabbing the other man by the throat, she thrust her face into his and shouted, “Issue a summons at once! I want the archpriest of Vulkain brought to me right away! His men are needed for an urgent task!” The frightened eunuch nodded at the furious priestess. “Now!” She threw him by the neck, and he stumbled out the door.

  Habiloho dropped to the floor and closed her eyes. It was all she could do.

  Teo had been translating all morning when a knock on his door interrupted him.

  “I’m not in!” he shouted.

  “Is that any way to treat a friend?”

  Teo jumped from his chair and opened the door to Maurice. “I’m sorry! I didn’t realize it was you.”

  “No offense taken. I understand what it is to be absorbed in scholarship. In fact, that’s why I’ve come. You’ve been so focused on your work, you haven’t had time for conversation.”

  Teo smiled ruefully. “You’re right. That’s what I like about you, Master. You always watch out for me.”

  The old professor smiled and clasped Teo on the shoulder. “Put away your things and come to my rooms. I’ll have tea ready.”

  Teo hid the Sacred Writing and his translator’s notes under his bed, then stepped outside, locking the door behind him. The morning was brisk. Even though it was the fifth month and the buds were on the trees, a chill lingered in the air as Teo walked down the colonnade to Maurice’s rooms. Hot tea would be a welcome treat, and he could use the break from his studies.

  Teo took his usual place on the settee, while Maurice sat in his upholstered leather chair. They drank their juniper tea in silence, the wall clock making the only sound in the cozy room.

  “What are you thinking about?” Maurice asked at length.

  Teo chuckled. “To be honest, I was thinking about you.”

  “My charm, wit, and good looks?” Maurice had a twinkle in his eyes.

  “Of course,” Teo answered, returning the mischievous expression. “How could I ever forget it?” The men shared the laughter of close friends.

  After a few moments, Teo looked at Maurice more seriously. “Actually, I was remembering when I first met you,” he said.

  “Ah, yes. You were just a boy. Cocky and insecure at the same time.”

  “Now I’m just cocky.”

  “I won’t argue with that.”

  “Do you remember how we met? I had just been sent here from the orphanage.”

  “I remember it well. You could hardly walk because the wardens had caned you for some offense. You were hobbling around like a sailor after a long horse ride!” Teo jumped to his feet and mimicked the bowlegged gait as Maurice laughed at his antics.

  Teo returned to his seat and sipped his tea, looking out the window. “The wardens always told me I was wicked. Every single day I had to tell myself I wasn’t.” Teo lowered his eyes and gazed at the floor. “You were the first person who ever treated me like I was worth something.”

  Maurice set his cup on his saucer. “Teo, my heart loved you right away. Not only because of your great potential in life, though I could see that well enough. It was something more—something I can’t explain. You were the son I never had.”

  “Why didn’t you have a family, Master?”

  Maurice explored the depths of his teacup. “There was a time I thought I might,” he said, rising to refill his cup from the pot. “But never mind that. Ancient history isn’t the subject for today.” He poured more tea into Teo’s cup, then handed him a little pitcher of cream. “I want to talk about religion.”

  “It seems to be your favorite subject these days.” Teo poured the cream. “The house community is thriving under your care.”

  “I think so, too. However, I’m worried about one of its members.”

  “Which one?”

  “You.”

  Teo glanced at Maurice. “Me? How come?”

  “You seem, if I may say so, rather uninvolved at times, like you’re going through the motions. Your head is in it, but not your heart.”

  “As always, you have me figured out. That’s exactly how I feel. And it’s intentional, I might add.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t need gods and religion in my life. Everything is going fine as it is.”

  “Everything? Including all your relationships?”

  Teo sighed. “Well, now that you mention it, things are a little rocky with Ana.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “We had a disagreement a few weeks ago, and now things are strained between us.”

  “Hmm. Not to add to your troubles, but you should probably know that Anastasia saw you talking with Sucula after the last meeting. That will increase the strain.”

  Teo waved his hand. “Nah, I doubt it. She won’t care about that.”

  “I think she will. Men care about actions. Women care about the meaning behind the actions. When you gave Sucula the cloak, you gave away the symbol of Anastasia’s affection for you. To another woman.”

  Teo puffed out his cheeks and expelled a long breath. “I don’t think I’m cut out for romance,” he said. “When it comes to fighting with swords and axes, I can do it. Finding a trail, hunting game, coming up with a plan—that I know how to do. But all this stuff with Ana and her religion is too confusing. Maybe I should just forget about her!”
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  Maurice frowned. “Could you do that?”

  “No,” Teo admitted. He brightened a little. “One time when we were out in the Beyond, we were sitting around the campfire, and I was looking at Ana. She’s so gorgeous, you know, and the soft firelight was on her face, and I just . . . I just couldn’t take my eyes off her! Her cheeks, her mouth, the shape of her neck—she’s flawless, like a priceless jewel! She didn’t see me because she was looking away, so I kept staring at her. I couldn’t help it. And I thought to myself, ‘By the gods, she is so beautiful!’ I was completely captivated. I knew right then—” He paused.

  “What did you know?”

  “I’m not sure how to say it. I guess I knew that our lives had become permanently intertwined.”

  “I think you’re right, Teo. So what should you do?”

  “I need a new plan. My old ways don’t seem to work on Ana.” He thought it over as he sipped his tea. “Maybe I should try to be more religious. I could be more talkative in the meetings, do good deeds, write holy poems and everything. She would like that, and then in no time I’d be back in her favor. What do you think?”

  “I think there’s a flaw in your plan.”

  Teo was surprised. “What is it?”

  “The problem is, that’s Teo’s plan, not Deu’s plan.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Deu is the All-Creator. He’s not a God to be manipulated by rituals and good deeds and token offerings. He makes the plans; your place is to heed them.”

  Teo rose from the settee and set down his cup. He rebelled at Maurice’s implication, though out of respect for his mentor he didn’t want to show it. “I can’t accept that,” he said at last. “I’ve tried fearing the gods before, and it didn’t work out. Now I chart my own course in life. If Deu wants to join me, he’s welcome to. If his religion helps me patch up things with Ana, great. If not, so be it. But I don’t want any deity telling me what to do.” He folded his arms across his chest. The clock ticked on the wall.

  For a long time, Maurice rubbed his shaved head in his palm, until at last he looked up at his student. “Teo, I think you have to let Deu be the God he is, not the god you want him to be.”