The Sword

by Bryan M. Litfin

“Those are incautious and inflammatory words, young lady,” said a magistrate on the end of the row. “By what actions has our esteemed High Priestess violated the law?”

  “She has illegally detained two of my friends—Maurice the Wise, a senior professor at the University, and Captain Teofil, tournament champion and soldier of the Fifth Regiment!”

  Again the crowd broke into a buzz, but the tone was different this time. The people were intrigued by Ana’s accusation.

  The chief magistrate looked skeptical. “What was the basis of the arrests?”

  Now the time had come. It was the moment Ana had been waiting for. “Your Honors, my friends were arrested because they understand that the gods of Chiveis are wicked and false—”

  Tumult. The crowd didn’t like it at all. “Shame! Shame!” someone cried. Others booed and hissed. Their hostility was palpable.

  “—wicked and false,” Ana repeated. “There is only one God—” Somebody threw an apple at Ana, forcing her to duck. “One God, named Deu, who is coming to Chiveis this day—” Her words faltered, drowned by the commotion.

  “Blasphemy!” The word hung in the air like a poisonous fog. Though the shouted accusation was anonymous, it represented the general opinion. Others joined the chant: “Blasphemy! Blasphemy! Blasphemy!” Feet began to stomp the floor, making the whole building shake.

  “Order! Order in my courtroom!” The chief magistrate pounded his gavel, but that only added to the din.

  Ana wasn’t sure what to do next. Deu, I will follow you, come what may!

  The magistrate looked to his left and snapped his fingers. “Bailiff! Take this woman into custody!”

  Four heavyset Vulkainian militiamen entered Teo’s cell, waking him from a doze in the afternoon sun. He had barely slept during the night on the cold floor, unable to stretch out because of his chains and tormented by grief at the loss of his master. Around noon, he had received some stale bread and a jar of brackish water. Maurice’s body was then removed, and at last Teo had fallen into a fitful sleep.

  Two of the Vulkainians held drawn swords. The third reached out and clenched Teo’s throat in his fist, while the fourth unfastened his chains from the wall. Teo briefly considered making a move, but with no weapon and with his throat in the grip of a muscular man, he knew it would be futile to try. They bound his hands behind his back and led him from the cell.

  The High Priestess awaited him in a windowless room with a high ceiling. A rope dangled from a pulley, and torches lined the walls. To one side of the room, a red-haired priestess stood watching. Teo looked at her more closely in the flickering light. It was the Flame of Chiveis.

  “We’ve come a long way, Habiloho.”

  She nodded. “And now it has come to this.”

  “Is it what you hoped for?”

  Habiloho fingered the collar at her neck but didn’t answer.

  Teo was shoved forward by the guards. The High Priestess approached him, her gauzy gown swishing as she walked. She wasn’t arrayed in her formal regalia, and without it, she seemed more normal. More earthly. Like a real human being. She came very close. Teo could feel her breath on his cheek. The fabric of her garment touched the bare skin of his chest, and it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation.

  “I’m giving you one last chance,” she whispered into his ear, “because I like you, Teofil. You’re an incredible warrior. We could be quite a team, you and I. If you’re willing to cooperate, I’m willing to show you my . . . favor.”

  Teo was taken aback by the woman’s unexpected nearness. His heartbeat quickened. Why? It wasn’t fear, he decided. Was it lust? Yes, a little. The High Priestess exuded a beguiling sensuality as she swayed against him. Teo reminded himself this was the person who had murdered Maurice. His twinge of desire flashed into anger.

  “Favor? You should’ve shown your favor to the wisest man in the realm! What will happen to his body? He deserves an honorable burial.”

  The High Priestess licked her lips. “Well, Captain, I think everything depends on you now. Your choices in the next few minutes will determine many things. A proper burial is still possible for the professor. And that isn’t all—I offer you much more. Freedom. My recommendation to the Royal Guard. Promotion. Who knows—I might even summon you to my personal chambers. To advise me, hmm?” The High Priestess smiled slyly. “You can have a good life, Captain, as long as you remain in my favor.”

  “And what is the price of your favor?”

  “It’s simple. You’ve gotten yourself entangled in an extinct superstition. I can understand that. A heroic man like you would obviously seek dangerous and radical ideas. Insurrection is exhilarating, I know. But you see, Captain, it isn’t good for the people. I need you to set a better example.”

  “Meaning?”

  The High Priestess took a step back, her nostrils flaring. “You will publicly recant your superstition, curse the name of Deu, and never speak of him again!”

  Teo’s pulse quickened. Time slowed, and his mind staggered at the significance of the moment facing him. A million scenarios flashed through his brain at once—some filled with honor, prestige, and acclaim, others with pain and suffering. Yet one overpowering fact cut through the cluttered images: he belonged to Deu.

  Yes. To Deu.

  He, Teofil, belonged to Deu.

  Like Maurice, like Ana, he, too, was a follower of Deu, the forgiving All-Creator. Teo gathered his courage.

  “Never. I will never forsake Deu. How could I blaspheme the one who saved me?”

  The High Priestess’s face turned darker than a demon’s. She spat on Teo, and he felt the saliva dribble down his cheek. “You will regret that decision, Captain Teofil.” She snapped her fingers. “Guards!”

  The Vulkainians grabbed Teo by the shoulders, forcing him toward the rope that dangled in the middle of the room. They bound his wrists, still fastened behind his back, to the rope.

  Strength, Teo. Don’t give in.

  Teo tried to steel himself for the approaching pain, but when it came, it was beyond anything he could have imagined.

  The rope went taut. Teo’s arms were wrenched up behind him. His feet lifted from the floor, and he hung in the air. The agony was overwhelming. His shoulders were contorted in a monstrous way, their sockets threatening to burst. He groaned through clenched teeth. Excruciating pain ravaged his body. He could scarcely breathe.

  “Where’s your Deu now?” the High Priestess sneered.

  Teo’s head swam. Make it stop! The pain! Make it stop!

  “Drop him!”

  Through the haze of torture, Teo felt relief at the prospect of being let down. He longed to take the pressure off his inverted arms.

  He dropped. But instead of touching the ground, the Vulkainian stopped him short with a jerk of the rope. The sudden wrenching of Teo’s arms took the pain to new heights. He cried out.

  The High Priestess signaled with her fingers, and two Vulkainians came forward. One was carrying a heavy stone ball. The other man fastened it to Teo’s ankles, and then he was hauled up again. The additional weight was more than he could bear. He panted, sweat pouring from his face and running down his body in streams. The room grew dim. Lights flashed in his brain. His arms were on fire.

  A messenger arrived and spoke to the High Priestess. She nodded. “Let the captain think on his sins for a while,” she commanded as she exited the room. The guards followed her.

  Teo dangled from the rope, alone. His head hung low. “Deu . . . help me.” His whisper was barely audible.

  “You still call on Deu?”

  Teo was confused. Who? What? Who said—

  “It’s Habiloho.”

  He could see her feet as he swayed. “My friend,” he gasped. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?”

  “For what . . . you’ve become.” Each word took great effort to utter.

  “What have I become?”

  “Slave. A slave.”

  Her voice was tremulous. “Do you hate me, Teo
fil?”

  “Forgive. I forgive you.” He moaned at the unrelenting agony.

  “Well, I can’t forgive myself! There’s no way back for me!”

  “Deu. He forgives. Always.”

  “Impossible!”

  “Come . . . to him . . . Habiloho.”

  A bead of sweat rolled down Teo’s nose and dropped to the floor. Then he saw another droplet fall—though not from him—to the stones between Habiloho’s feet. Without a word, the princess ran from the room, leaving Teo in his torment.

  A eunuch knocked on the door of the study, but the visitor he ushered in wasn’t the person the High Priestess had been expecting. Instead of the girl from Edgeton, recently arrested for seditious statements at the courthouse, it was Princess Habiloho.

  The High Priestess rose from her desk and welcomed her disciple with a kiss. “How does it feel?” she asked.

  Habiloho’s expression was uncertain.

  “How does it feel to taste revenge?”

  “Oh! It’s—it’s very satisfying.”

  “Relish it. It’s one of life’s greatest pleasures.” The High Priestess turned toward her desk. “So what brings you to my rooms?”

  “Uh, the captain, actually. Our prisoner.”

  The High Priestess scowled. “He will deny the Enemy before this is finished.”

  “That’s what I’ve come to talk to you about. I’ve had some thoughts about how we might achieve our purposes.”

  The High Priestess poured herself a goblet of wine. “Go on.”

  “I’m not sure we can break the captain through torture. He’s incredibly strong. Even if we were to succeed, what would we have accomplished? He’s in our grasp now—no danger to us anymore. But what about the rest of Chiveis? The seeds of heresy are flying on the wind as we speak.”

  The High Priestess drained her goblet and hurled it into the fireplace. Shards of broken glass ricocheted onto the floor. “The people of Chiveis will never embrace Christianism! I swear it by Astrebril!”

  The room fell silent. Rage simmered in the High Priestess’s soul.

  Habiloho finally broke the silence. “I know Captain Teofil very well. He’s stubborn. Pain won’t work on him.”

  “It works on everyone eventually.”

  “Even so, what of the people? Christianism may already be spreading among them like wildfire.”

  The High Priestess stalked toward Habiloho. Though the princess flinched, she held her ground. Impressive, the High Priestess thought. I’ve seen generals wilt under less intimidation. Staring into Habiloho’s eyes, she asked, “Do you have a better idea? Or can you only offer criticism?”

  Habiloho straightened her shoulders. “What we need is a way to discredit the captain in front of the people. We have to show them Christianism is false, weak, a religion unworthy of a great kingdom like Chiveis.”

  The High Priestess tilted her head and rested her hands on her hips as she considered Habiloho’s words. “Now you’re speaking like a servant of Astrebril. What do you suggest?”

  “First, we should end Teofil’s torment. We need him at his strongest for what I have in mind.”

  “It can be done. Not yet though. What else?”

  “As you commanded me, I’ve been reading the book of the Enemy. I came across something that might work for us. We could use the Enemy’s own methods against him, and so prove the superior power of Astrebril once and for all.”

  The High Priestess walked to her desk and removed a leather-bound book from a drawer. She laid it on the desktop. “Show me.”

  Habiloho approached the desk and turned the pages with her lovely fingers. Her hair shimmered red and gold in the sunlight as she searched for the text. No wonder the people desire this pretty little thing, the High Priestess mused. That desire could prove useful.

  “Here it is.” Habiloho pushed the book across the desk. “The First Book of Kings, eighteenth chapter. It’s a confrontation between the prophets of the god Baal and the Enemy’s prophet, Élie. A great duel was proposed. Two bulls would be sacrificed, and the one on which heavenly flames fell would be the victor. In the story, the Enemy won. But what if he were to face Astrebril himself? We know his power is greatest of all! Surely the Beautiful One would win the duel, and then all the people would reject the heresy of Christianism forever.”

  The High Priestess turned the idea over in her mind, toying with her iron collar. “It’s true our problem isn’t the captain himself—it’s the spread of his ideas. Maurice the Wise has been eliminated, but he was never popular among the people like Captain Teofil. The last thing we want is to make a tournament champion a martyr. But if we could turn the people against the captain . . . shame him publicly . . . reveal the totems of his religion as impotent . . .”

  “It wouldn’t be difficult at all! We’re servants of Astrebril! We know he’s the strongest god. Once the people see that, they’ll never want to follow the Enemy.”

  A messenger knocked and entered the room. “The prisoner from the courthouse has arrived,” he announced.

  “Bring her to me.” The High Priestess turned toward Habiloho, smiling benignly. “You’ve done well today, faithful servant. Your mind is full of holy ideas. Go now with my blessing.”

  Habiloho turned to leave, then paused and looked back. “What will happen to Teof—I mean, our prisoner? Will he be returned to his cell right away?”

  “Soon. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh . . . uh, no reason. I thought I might, you know, relish my revenge. Gloat over him in his cell.”

  “Of course. Revenge is sweet. You may go.”

  Habiloho bowed and left the room. The High Priestess watched her leave. The girl is wavering, she thought. Something will have to be done about that.

  Ana was afraid. She was at the temple of the High Priestess again, this time as a prisoner. How will it all play out? She had no idea.

  A blond priest walked ahead of her in a loose shift and sandals. Another eunuch followed behind. They came to a door. Before they could knock, it swung open, and the High Priestess stood there.

  “Leave us.” The men fled. “Come in, little one.”

  Ana entered the High Priestess’s study. A desk sat in the middle of the room, illuminated by a beam of afternoon sunlight. A book lay open on the desk. Ana turned to face the High Priestess. “Where are Maurice and Teofil?”

  “I will do the talking here, Anastasia of Edgeton.” The High Priestess circled around Ana, watching her from the corners of her eyes. “The last time we were together, you rudely refused my hospitality. When the outsiders grabbed you, I assumed you were lost forever.”

  “Teofil came for me.”

  “Your hero, hmm? Well, the captain certainly is strong.” She looked at Ana, an eyebrow raised. “Would you like to see him?”

  Ana’s heart jumped, and she knew her face lit up more than she intended. “Of course I want to see him,” she said.

  The High Priestess snickered, then scooped up the book from the desk and beckoned Ana toward a door at the rear of the study. It led down a narrow spiral staircase to another door. The High Priestess eased it open. Torches glowed in the dim room. “There’s your hero.”

  No! Teo! No!

  Ana ran to him. He hung from the ceiling, his arms cruelly wrenched behind his back. A heavy stone weight around his ankles strained his bulging shoulders. His body glistened with the sweat of his torment. Pain twisted his face into a grimace she scarcely recognized.

  “Teo, it’s me! I’m here!”

  His only response was an incoherent sound.

  Ana whirled on the High Priestess. “Let him down, you monster!” Ana charged at her, but a Vulkainian stepped from the shadows and intervened. Ana thrashed in his arms. “Let me go! Let him down now!” Teo’s suffering was more than she could bear.

  The High Priestess released a winch on the wall. Teo fell in a heap, the stone weight cracking loudly against the dungeon floor. Ana tore herself from the Vulkainian’s grasp and went to Teo
’s side.

  “I’m here with you, Teo!” His arms hung limp, as if disconnected from his body. His shoulder muscles were in spasm. He groaned. Ana stroked his sweaty forehead. “Can you hear me? It’s Ana!”

  He opened his eyes to a squint. Awareness of his surroundings seemed to return. “Ana?” he whispered.

  “Yes, I’m here!”

  He struggled to gain an upright position, but without the use of his arms, he couldn’t manage it. “Have they hurt you, Ana?”

  “No, I’m fine! Never mind me! Oh, it’s so horrible!” Tears spilled down her cheeks at the immensity of the agony Teo had endured. And yet he asks about me . . .

  “Very touching. Now get up!” The High Priestess’s tone was scornful. The Vulkainian hauled Ana to her feet. “We have business to conduct.”

  “I don’t do business with the enemies of Deu,” Teo said from the floor.

  “Deu is nothing, the impotent god of a dead religion. But if you think otherwise, I’m offering you the chance to prove it. Your choices are simple: comply with my offer or face public execution. I can charge you both with sedition, and not one of the magistrates will cross me. You would be wise to accept my proposal.”

  “What’s your proposal?” Ana demanded.

  The High Priestess held up the leather-bound book. “Professor Maurice believed a new book had come to Chiveis. What he didn’t know is, the book isn’t so new. I’ve had it for years—this so-called Sacred Writing of yours.”

  Ana inhaled sharply. The Sacred Writing of Deu—a complete version, translated into Chiveisian speech!

  “My offer is this: the eighteenth chapter of the First Book of Kings describes a confrontation between your god and another. Two bulls were sacrificed, but fire from heaven fell on only one, and in this way Deu’s prophet Élie defeated the prophets of Baal. An unlikely little fable, but one with an interesting premise! I propose a similar duel in which we each sacrifice to our gods. You both must remain in prison here until the summer solstice. On that day, all of Chiveis will be summoned to the coliseum. Two great altars will be erected. You may have all your tokens of power, and I will use mine. Each of us will call on our gods as we see fit. The one whose sacrifice catches fire will be the winner. But I warn you, Astrebril is the supreme god. His power is far greater than some tribal deity of the Ancients.”