The Paladin's Odyssey (The Windows of Heaven)

by Powderly Jr. , K. G.

  “The Earth has since become their playground. The Basilisk sits back and lets the duped sons of A’Nu corrupt the seed of men—creating first titans and giants, now these Elyo, and who knows what else. Men wanted spiritual fantasies they could control, instead of the reality of E’Yahavah’s authority over them.

  “However, in time even fantasy becomes unsatisfying. The Watchers breathed more life into all the fantasies than was good for either them or humanity. Men had long ago reached the point where they would have it no other way. E’Yahavah knew that civilization affected by the Watchers would quickly degrade to where he would need to destroy it all and start again.”

  Pyra spoke, but her former conviction seemed to have vanished. Her litany sounded like something she had memorized by rote. “This sounds like self-hatred and hatred of your own kind. That’s not healthy. Surely, we’re not all so bad. My order exists to fulfill human needs.”

  “And the way you go about this is not insane and self-destructive?”

  She snapped out of her fog. “That’s not fair! We make mistakes, but our best minds constantly improve the methods. We perform our services in a sanitary, non-threatening environment where people can share their feelings in whatever way comes naturally to them. Fertility worship is rich in symbolism and theatrical expression. We not only celebrate yearly cycles, we help people discover themselves so they can have deeper relationships. It’s a well-known fact that sexual frustration and emotional suppression are at the root of most violence and despondency; everybody knows it!”

  “Yet a sixth of your city is under red-sore quarantine, while there aren’t enough jails to hold your violent murder and rape offenders.”

  “How do you know these things?”

  “Are they not true?”

  “Yes! But how do you know? You have seen little between the boat and this room! Have you visited here before?”

  “What good is having a seer if he doesn’t tell the truth?”

  Pyra T’Qinna’s voice quivered. “I—I sh-should go now.”

  “Will you come back and visit us again?”

  “Y-yes—I promise.”

  W

  hy did I promise to come back? Pyra chided herself as she stormed up to her dorm chambers. This is just too scary! What he says is so wrong! He can’t be telling the truth about Pandura and Psydonu, either! All right, maybe Psydonu’s not really the Seed and Pandura’s playing another of her political games—nobody really knows what to think about that stuff anyway. But he can’t be the monster A’Nu-Ahki says! Grandmother’s no goddess of virtue, but she could never go along with something so…

  The image flashed before her eyes—her mother’s gutted body, strangely bloodless, splayed across an altar to… what; a fevered dream from an illness last year?

  Pyra stopped just outside her chamber, breathless, and leaned against the granite wall, ready to collapse. Her muscles quaked all over as she broke into tears again. Taanyx nuzzled her thigh with a sympathetic purr. The truth is I really don’t know Pandura at all. She’s been trying to mother me since Mauma died, but I feel like she’s mostly just humoring me.

  Memories of the many times her grandmother had lied to her came flooding back. Pyra was always catching the woman in seemingly innocuous fibs—mostly about small things, but sometimes about Mauma. Did Mauma really die peacefully as Pandura said?

  Again, the terrible altar dream exploded before her eyes. Why did I dream such a horrible thing? Why do I keep remembering it?

  Other recollections also flooded to the surface—of awakening in the middle of the night as a child hearing whimpers and screams from man and beast that echoed up from inside the Temple air vents. They all broke loose; an army of living dead that surged from hastily concealed graves of denial. The lies she had always been able to rationalize, but no explanation satisfied when it came to the distant screams. Time and again, she had just pretended not to hear them, as she buried the memories like missing victims of a murderer she personally knew, but was too terrified of to expose.

  People near to Pandura sometimes just disappeared.

  What about Mnemosynae?

  She had shunned the question until now. Although Pyra’s mentor often seemed at odds with Pandura and full of kindly wisdom for her pupil, the two women served on the same Council; a Council with many dark secrets. I can’t even talk to ’Phe about this. None of them will understand!

  Taanyx bumped her thigh and made a low yowl that brought Pyra out of her funk. She realized that her Court hour was only minutes away. Eyeliner ran in dribbled streaks down her face. She scratched the sphinx’s head and rushed into her chamber.

  Two other priestesses hogged the mirror, so Pyra quickly changed into a new outfit and toweled off her old make-up. By the time she had watered Taanyx, repainted herself, and scurried down to the Court of Meeting, she was five minutes late. The Over-mistress marked her down with a sour look, but said nothing.

  Pyra looked around for Khallio’Phe and saw her by the arch through which the city dwellers entered. The physician’s inspection booths on the other side were running behind. Only as Pyra took up her station did any worshipers get into the protected meeting area. ‘Phe snapped up the first one to make it through the identification and inspection line, as usual.

  Gorvox came fifth under the arch.

  Only a visit from the Lumpy One could make this day any worse!

  He jostled her way, a chubby, acne-faced ‘tween-ager some fifteen years older than she. At least he’s not afraid of worship any more. I still remind him of a childhood love who likely doesn’t even know he exists. Oh well, she reasoned to fight down her revulsion; he’s lonely and needs to get those feelings out so he can move on. It’s all part of the sacred service.

  “Luura!” Gorvox called, waving like an agitated groundhog. Luura was the name of his elusive boyhood crush. Pyra herself had suggested he use it to help him put into words the things he wanted say to the real Luura. Who knows? He might someday find the courage to talk to her.

  “I’m here, Gorvox,” she answered; making a point to call him by name with an affectionate smile that she hoped was not too overdone. Her instructors in the orbs had always taught them to use the names of patrons frequently, but not to encourage too many special attachments in them. This was worship—people need to know they’re cared for, but that it’s really all about the Goddess. Whatever else the Seer might say about Temple, I really do care about my patrons—even the ones I may not like all that much.

  Gorvox surprised her when he swept her off her feet in a bear hug greeting. An odd smirk curled his lips when he pressed a kiss onto her cheek. The sudden boldness was most unlike the clumsy introvert she had begun to counsel over a year ago.

  “Slow down! I’m not going anywhere!” She struggled free of his grip. “Go to the Preparation Altar.”

  “I know the routine!”

  “I know you do, but I got to say it anyway. It’s the rules.” He’s never snapped at me before—he’s not afraid anymore. That’s good, isn’t it?

  Gorvox finished his preparation rite a little too quickly.

  Pyra was not sure exactly when on their short walk to the sanctum that the Fear began to crawl up her back like a scorpion. Her conversation with the prisoners still haunted her.

  “Surely we’re not all bad! My order exists to fulfill human needs.”

  The Seer’s kindly face seemed to fill an encroaching darkness, “And the way you go about this is not insane?”

  When they turned into the dim alcove through the sanctum curtains, Pyra’s heart began to pound in her ears. Gorvox always preferred the private chambers because he usually liked to talk. Often that was all he did.

  It’s healthy when they like to talk.

  Her heart almost stopped when he shut the drapes behind them.

  His voice was cold stone instead of the usual whiny slump. “She didn’t like it when I tried to talk to her like you said.”

  For a split second, Pyra felt it
would be okay. She had never really expected that Luura would respond to him, but he had to learn how to risk rejection or he would never find love outside in the real world.

  The real world—the words stabbed her. If the real world is outside, then what world am I living in? She began to turn around to console him.

  Pyra never saw the blow to her head that sent her tumbling into spiraling madness.

  THE PALADIN’S ODYSSEY | 367

  Awake, awake, put on strength, O arm of the LORD; awake as in the ancient days, in the generations of old. Art thou not it that hath cut Rahab, and wounded the dragon?

  —Isaiah 51:9 (KJV)

  THE PALADIN’S ODYSSEY | 367

  10

  Underground

  A’

  Nu-Ahki broke the long silence inside their pearly cell. “I should like it a lot if that young lady would come down and sing for us again.”

  U’Sumi scowled. “I think you scared her off. Besides, she’s just another Temple whore.”

  “I rather liked her. She seemed thirsty for truth in her own odd way.”

  “Thirsty for truth? I bet you she’s slept with half the city and she isn’t even my age. Let them all burn or drown at World-end, especially her!”

  “Why her especially?”

  “How should I know?” U’Sumi whined as only a ‘tween-ager could. “She’ll probably be dead with the red-sore in a few years, so why bother?”

  “How you do moan on! What is it with this new macabre fascination you have for the red-sore?”

  U’Sumi still had not told him about the sailor and didn’t feel like dredging it up. “Nothing!”

  The slide-bolt sounded down the menagerie corridor. Footsteps tapped toward their cell, which brought an end to their bickering. The cartouche plugged into the door slot and the panel slid over to reveal Pandura, a younger priestess of tawny Setiim descent, and two male guards.

  Pandura said, “I’m here for my samples.”

  A’Nu-Ahki asked, “When you said you needed tissue samples, exactly what kind of tissue did you mean?”

  “Two kinds; one will be extracted by a thin painless bore instrument from your stomach lining—those are the best cells for a little procedure that will replicate identical embryos from your creation codes for implantation into host mothers. The second is just an impregnation, which will not be painful at all but actually quite pleasurable for you. You shall impregnate me. This other priestess is for the boy or, if you prefer, it can be the other way around. We will visit you daily until both of us are with child.”

  U’Sumi went weak all over.

  “We do not do ‘impregnations’…” A’Nu-Ahki pronounced the word contemptuously, “…with women who are not our wives.”

  Pandura sighed. “Oh don’t try to impress me with your quaint Eastern prudery—your own Archon-in-Waiting is a frequent secret caller at Ayar Adi’In—I was with him there myself as a novice, before the Temple Schism. I’ll give you a day to change your mind. If not, we’ll drug you and take our samples anyway. It’ll be a lot less fun.”

  “The gift of E’Yahavah transcends our creation codes.”

  “Don’t try to pretend you understand more than you do,” said the High Priestess. “Your seer’s gift has gone from father to son all the way back to the patriarch-king called Seti and possibly before that. Nothing goes down a family tree like that without being preordained by the codes.”

  “Our seed belongs only to E’Yahavah and to our wives.”

  “The young one has no wife.” Pandura smiled, moving over to U’Sumi and running her fingers through his dark curls. “Tell me something, my noble paladin; can it be possible that you are still a virgin?”

  U’Sumi shook with embarrassment while both priestesses laughed.

  “Leave him alone!” A’Nu-Ahki commanded.

  Pandura’s eyes narrowed. “You really shouldn’t try to boss me around like one of your simpering Eastern washing-wenches!”

  “Look around you! Your tampering is destroying the very fabric of life! You’ve unleashed diseases and deformities from this place—unforeseen side effects to your experiments—that are now starting to show up outside!”

  “There you go, pretending to know more than you really do again. For a seer, you’re really not so very enlightening.”

  A’Nu-Ahki stared into her eyes. “In forty-eight years the plagues you’ve spawned will have consumed you and your people so thoroughly that the destruction E’Yahavah sends will be welcomed as a mercy killing.”

  For a moment, the smirk left Pandura’s face. She turned away from U’Sumi’s father and signaled her guards and the other priestess out of the cell. “I am not frightened by some patriarchal high god who throws cosmic temper tantrums! We have potions here that can strip you of the most deep-seated taboos and inhibitions. If that doesn’t work, we can break down your minds until you will actually believe that I’m your own wife without a second thought and happily ravish me for hours on end.”

  “Then why waste time with useless threats? Why wait?”

  U’Sumi almost shouted for his father to shut up and not test her, but he somehow held his tongue.

  Pandura’s eyes resumed their normal size. “Such methods would take a serious toll on your health and sanity, which would make it impossible for us to ever release you back into society responsibly.”

  A’Nu-Ahki laughed long and hard. “I’m touched by your concern!”

  The High Priestess’ face went beet red. “One day! That’s all. Then I’ll be back this time tomorrow and I’ll have my samples—both types—for as long as it takes and maybe even a little longer just for fun.”

  P

  yra T’Qinna gazed into the mirror at her blackened eyes and split lip. Khallio’Phe applied balm to the bruises across her back.

  “You’re lucky he didn’t kill you!” ‘Phe said. “You should have readied your poisoned needle the moment you saw him acting strangely.”

  “He seemed excited and unafraid of me for the first time. I thought he was improving. What will the Temple Guard do with him?”

  ‘Phe tightened the bandage around Pyra’s bruised ribs. “He’ll go to first offense re-education and be banned from the Court for a year and from the private sanctum chambers for two more years after that. Don’t worry about him. An atypical reaction happens sometimes with worshipers who have behaved in a habitually withdrawn way.”

  Pyra was unconvinced. “Maybe; but I know that a year ago he would have never lashed out like that even if he had blamed my counsel for his rejection.” She wanted badly to express her growing doubts about the Temple system itself, but dared not. Why am I afraid of ‘Phe and her mother? They’ve always been good friends and wise counselors to me.

  “You mustn’t blame yourself, Pyra darling. No priestess can be all things to all people.”

  Pyra felt a twinge of guilt. ‘Phe thinks I’m blaming myself like a good little novice. What would she write in her notes if I told her the truth? She changed the subject. “I need to go to the Archives. Special research for your mother,” she lied.

  “Don’t work too hard, sweetie. You’ve been through a lot and need to rest. Mnemosynae will understand; she’s incredibly good that way.”

  “I’ll be okay. It’s just a few odds and ends. It’ll keep my mind off things. I promise I won’t overdo.”

  ‘Phe grabbed a jar of pigment from the mirror table. “Wear a cloak then; and here, let me put some pigment on those black eyes. I’ll be gentle.”

  Are my scars badges of honor or failure—or maybe something worse than failure? T’Qinna asked herself while the makeup went on. Must they be hidden to keep others from thinking and questioning? Have we conditioned ourselves to ignore the obvious for so long that we have made common sense unthinkable?

  “There,” Khallio’Phe said, as she finished putting on Pyra’s face.

  “Thanks. I’ll be back for dinner.”

  Pyra got up, and wrapped herself in a cloak before she limp
ed out.

  The Archives were across the innermost ring avenue from the Court of Beasts. The late afternoon sun played rose-gold on the whitewashed buildings. Pyra crept under the record hall’s growing shadow, hoping no one she really knew would notice her enter.

  She showed her cartouche to the guard and proceeded through the Pantheon statuary hall to the Chamber of Seeing. Fortunately, Psydonu’s Confirmation was so recent that the viewing crystal was a popular item that would not attract any undue attention from the librarians for her to check out. She went right to the wall rack under the Life of Psydonu and selected one of the fresh copies. The librarian marked the number, and then ushered her into the viewing chamber.

  Pyra found an unused orb alcove, where she activated the device with her cartouche. The crystal slid into the oracle reader slot, which automatically brightened the cold blue light in the glass spheroid.

  A moving picture of the interior of Thulae’s grand audience dome awoke inside the smoky lens. Pyra watched the pomp and festival until she got bored and pushed the forward tile on the orb’s control pad. She let it play again when she saw the Cyclops guards lead U’Sumi down to the dais. There Psydonu called them up onto his throne platform one at a time, starting with Pandura. A’Nu-Ahki interrogated the Titan it seemed forever, while Psydonu gave answers that often seemed unrelated to the questions. The whole process was a fabulous annoyance!

  Pyra consoled herself by keeping her eyes on U’Sumi, which was not hard to do. He is so incredible! I wish I could figure him out so I could stop offending him at every turn. He’s so unlike any man I’ve ever known. If I could just stop saying the wrong things, I know we could be friends. Her mind almost wandered off into a romantic fantasy, but then she heard A’Nu-Ahki’s voice confirm Psydonu as the Promised Seed.

  The chamber in the orb exploded with gold-white radiance. Pyra heard an otherworldly chorus break into ethereal song. When the light faded, only the Titan, Pandura, the Seer, and U’Sumi remained on the dais.