A Broken Paradise (The Windows of Heaven Book 3)

by Powderly Jr. , K. G.

  “I see. How far can I go? I can justify anything I set my mind to.”

  Inguska did not have to ponder his answer. He had asked the same question of Heaven’s Daughters before he had left Assur’Ayur. “Truth must always be chosen if the effect is neutral, for truth is to be desired. Yet, in Sa-utar, we must blend-in to strike at our objective. It may be years before I call you to do so. If you must drink wine to blend in, then drink wine. If you must sleep with prostitutes, then choose the most beautiful whores. Anything is permissible to reach the greater objective. Sa-utar is a depraved city. Samyaza will forgive all that is done to further the sacred struggle there.”

  Enkasi looked down at the road. “I find this troubling, Lord.”

  “So did I, until Samyaza showed me the greater good. Close your eyes a moment and lose yourself in the radiance of Heaven’s Queens. The ugliness of war must be endured, but afterward is the paradise of Aeden restored for those who are faithful. You shall have a harem of seventy virgins as beautiful as the Queens themselves!”

  Enkasi closed his eyes and sighed. After a few moments, he laughed. “Ahh… their beauty does not grow dim in my mind’s eye, but inflames my heart for the coming battle. You are right, my teacher!”

  “I will contact the faithful in Sa-utar. You, however, must take work as a deliverer of goods, and must never visit among the immigrants. You have learned to make an excellent mimicry of the accent of Akh’Uzan—do so all the time from here on out. Act as any teamster might. Tell bawdy stories of your prowess and your sexual conquests—go with your fellow workers to their taverns. Make yourself outwardly as one of them, but know inwardly that Samyaza preserves your soul from their impurities.”

  Enkasi spoke with the rustic twang of an Akh’Uzan timber hauler. “I’ve never cheated on my wives.”

  Inguska smiled, but nodded in sympathy. “We must all make terrible sacrifices as the agents of Samyaza’s judgment on those who refuse his law.”

  T

  he tile mosaic covered the wall opposite the divan inside the bed chamber with sea creatures of every sort, from leviathan to dolphins to octopus and starfish. Satori always went on about how he loved the sea.

  Galkuna said to her husband, “I don’t trust that man.”

  Satori led her toward the divan. “Why not—because he’s a Samyaza worshiper?”

  “Don’t patronize me, Satori. He’s not like the others. This Inguska has an agenda.”

  “We all have our agendas, darling.”

  “But not all agendas are as good as yours.”

  Satori gave that fatherly sigh Galkuna both loved and hated. “Why do you think Inguska has an evil agenda?”

  “Did you see how he stared at Petara and me?”

  “He’s from Assuri. Most women outside the Temple still wear veils over there. You’re an attractive young lady, after all.”

  “It was more than that, my Husband.”

  “Oh no; not the Formal Voice!”

  “Satori, I’m serious! You trust these people too easily.”

  “And you are starting to sound as paranoid as the Lits of my clan. By the Ten Heavens, ‘Kuna, when I took you as my first concubine you were a Khavilak woman! I’ve always been drawn to your people because of your willingness to try new things!”

  “You didn’t notice how the other immigrants behaved around him?”

  “How?”

  “They clammed up. Usually they laugh and chat—their women show Petara and me their recipes. Yesterday they were afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “I don’t know. But if I were you, I would try to find out.”

  “First the elders, now you! If I were you, I’d be more worried about our daughter—she’s starting to talk like a Lit fervent or something. I’m beginning to have second thoughts about her marriage to Iyapeti.”

  “You’re changing the subject, Satori.”

  “Yeah, I guess I am! Come to think of it, I’m in the mood for Petara tonight, anyway!”

  He got up and left Galkuna alone with her suspicions on the bed.

  I

  nguska knew that winning over the larger immigrant community at Sa-utar would be much more difficult than the one in Akh’Uzan. They were less isolated, less alienated from the surrounding community. He could feel the discontent in their shrine assembly seethe below the surface, while he proclaimed the holy war’s new campaign. Fortunately, he spoke only in the vaguest generalities. Better it break out into the open now than later.

  “Lord Inguska, thank you for bringing the message of Heaven’s Mouthpiece to us personally,” answered the Chief Priest once Inguska had finished. “We are ready to do whatever is needed to aid his holy war, as always. This shrine has fought successfully many decades through moral persuasion. Many of Sa-utar’s poor and downtrodden have converted to us, and we enjoy an excellent reputation in the community that convinces others of Samyaza’s claims…”

  Inguska cut him off. “Does the Archon’s government submit to Samyaza’s Law or to Lumekkor’s?”

  “They are under suzerainty to Lumekkor, of course.”

  “Do not the local people live by the Archon’s law?”

  The Chief Priest hesitated. “They do, but…”

  Inguska spoke over him, “The Archon aided and abetted Assuri’s demilitarization. He tried to inflame Lumekkor into denying us the technical aid needed to construct the Phoenix Fleet and to restore our other sacred industries. They covertly assisted the Rubber Planter’s Rebellion after the Century War. The spirit of resistance in them must be broken.”

  “The common people are softening to us, Lord. Can we not win them more effectively by persuasion than by arms?”

  “While such work has value; words alone are no longer sufficient. It is good to persuade, but it is not enough if others are free to persuade the faithful and those who might become faithful to become apostates or remain infidels instead. Samyaza’s Law must be the law of the world. We cannot fight with reason alone, any more than we could fight only with armies and flying fleets. We are the A’Nu’s true Agents of Judgment and Samyaza is E’Yahavah’s very manifestation on Earth!”

  The Chief Priest hung his head. “I see.”

  Inguska felt he had won the argument, but not decisively. Still the assembly in the shrine looked to each other with uneasy eyes.

  Inguska asked them, “Are there any other questions?”

  A well-dressed, heavyset man with small, shrewd eyes stood up. “I have several. My name is Yabulla, and I am a merchant who has fought hard to gain fair markets for the goods of Assuri and Ufratsis in the West. My commerce connections helped finance the Post-War Restoration and the construction of the Phoenix Fleet.”

  “What is your question?” Inguska grew wary that the man’s tiny eyes and clear voice did not seem to show the Chief Priest’s deference.

  “We live in peace here, where our cause is steadily advancing through commercial and ideological methods. I see great danger that what you propose will destroy all that and fail in its greater objectives as well. Why should we cooperate with you? Why should we believe that you speak for Samyaza or even that these Daughters of Heaven you speak of do? We have studied this land and know how best to reach its peoples.”

  Inguska nearly panicked when he heard the assembly murmur, and saw many nodding their heads in agreement. He had not imagined that anyone would dare to speak openly against somebody with his level of Temple sanction.

  Inguska pointed at the challenger and barked, “I have been anointed with the power of our master! Those I curse, Samyaza shall curse! Those I bless, shall see his beauty.”

  Yabulla seemed unimpressed. “I, too, was granted power when I came here sixty years ago. The Holy Ones gave me instructions also, and I, too, have a covert priestly rank. I have been faithful to my mission, and I will not see our work destroyed by reckless adventurers. Samyaza is a god of peace, who fights only when men force war upon him! Your vision of ‘holy war’ would bring the might of
Lumekkor, and possibly Aztlan, down on us in a repeat of past disasters all too recent! If we are patient, Aztlan may join us and shift the balance of power.”

  “When did you last commune directly with the Lord of Heaven?” Inguska asked, fighting to keep his voice even.

  Yabulla hesitated.

  “It is written in Samyaza’s Law that those who fight with their lives and their substance are greater than those who haggle with merchandise to manipulate kings…”

  The eyes in the assembly began to waver.

  Inguska continued, “Your love of comfort and merchandise borders on apostasy! When the Q’Enukkian elders of Regati refused Samyaza’s Law, the Lord of Heaven slaughtered them in just retribution!”

  Yabulla said, “Is that the answer to everything then—slaughter? I tell you, this campaign will make our master’s name to stink in everyone’s nostrils and bring down the rage of the entire world upon our people! It will destroy Samyaza’s work, and his dream for a better world!”

  Inguska gazed out at the others. “His dream or yours? Oppression is worse than slaughter! I see, however, that the decadence of Sa-utar has softened your resolve. Fighting is ordained for you, but you do not like it! Could it be that you dislike what is good for you, and love what is bad? But Heaven’s Mouthpiece knows what is best and you do not! Who is for Samyaza—may his name be the song of ages—and who is for the cowardly peace of this shopkeeper?”

  The murmuring shifted both ways now, though Inguska was sure the assembly was polarizing. He tried to open his mind to the spiritual power Heaven’s Daughters had bestowed upon him, but found the flow blocked by the dissension in the small shrine’s salon. He marked the faces that seemed to stand with Yabulla. They were fewer, but still emboldened to speak.

  The Chief Priest raised his hand to quell the growing unrest. “I remind you all that Lord Inguska has proper priestly tokens and that any discussion of what is said here with outsiders is an act of treachery and apostasy. We each may fight the holy war in different ways, but we all still serve the same master.”

  “Well spoken, Sacred Mediator!” Inguska intoned.

  Yabulla’s eyes shrank into icy beads. “We bow to the Sacred Mediator, though we resent the insinuations of this newcomer.”

  Inguska bowed to Yabulla. “Forgive then the intemperate words of my zeal for our master.”

  “Harsh words may be spoken by the righteously zealous in sacred conference,” the Chief Priest reminded them all. “But in the end, we are all children under Samyaza.”

  T

  he market bazaar surged with Sa-utar’s shoppers such that two men standing between vendor tents attracted no attention at all. One man held a small box out to the other. Enkasi appeared eager to get on with the work.

  Inguska instructed him, “Deliver this box into the very hands of Yabulla the Merchant. The elixir I have given you is the antidote for the poisoned resin that varnishes the wood of the chest. The poison will dissolve in less than two hours, so he must touch the box’s wood within that time. Give it to no other. Do you understand?”

  Enkasi nodded. “Yes, Lord. Who is this evildoer?”

  “He has turned from the holy path, and must be made an example.”

  “I will not fail the Lord of Heaven or his queens.”

  “You will find Yabulla’s shop on the next street over, on this block. He is there right now—I checked on the way to meeting you.”

  “When will I be called upon for the greater service?”

  Inguska said, “It may be a while, but no more than a few years. I must return to Akh’Uzan to meet my wives’ caravan. They will carry some materials you will need for that phase of the war.”

  “I will meet you again in a month at the appointed place then?”

  “Yes. Be patient. Glory awaits you.”

  Enkasi took the small wooden chest. “Within the hour, this apostate shall be crushed in the dark Abyssu of Under-world.”

  Inguska watched his protégé disappear into the market throng. He is a good and faithful student. What a shame I cannot keep him with me too much longer.

  We have a kind of faith in the nature of people that we do not have in… nature itself—and I use the word “faith” in its full religious force. We really do believe that all human beings have a natural telos toward becoming flowers, not weeds or poison ivy, and that aggregates of human beings have a natural predisposition to arrange themselves into gardens, not jungles or garbage heaps. This sublime and noble faith we may call the religion of liberal humanism. It is the dominant spiritual and intellectual orthodoxy in America today. Indeed, despite all our chatter about the separation of church and state, one can even say it is the official religion of American society today, as against which all other religions can be criticized as divisive and parochial.

  —Irving Kristol

  “Thoughts on Reading About a Number of Summer-Camp Cabins Covered with Garbage”

  The New York Times Magazine, Nov. 17, 1974

  9

  Colossus

  Tarbet had been happy to host the first annual Summit of Mages in order to foster a spirit of post-war amity—until his own master scholar had opened his mouth. The Archon-in-Waiting could almost feel Avarnon-Set’s black void eyes burn into his back. The vaulted dome ceiling far above his head suddenly seemed to contract inward, until it felt like a tight stone bubble that threatened to suffocate everyone inside the giant rotunda.

  Tarbet’s Master Sage, P’Tah, continued his unexpected rant; “I observed the tests throughout much of the Guild study in question, with many thanks to Shepherd Tubaal-qayin Dumuzi and Lord Avarnon-Set. While the results were sometimes remarkable, they were not quite what the researchers had anticipated. Many anomalies occurred during the course of the experiments, some of them extremely distressing. Why did the final report we just heard make no mention of them? They affected half the subject population. That seemed significant at the time; why not now?”

  The Guild Worker Studies delegate briefly turned red and coughed.

  Tarbet noticed that the visiting Temple magi from Aztlan had perked up at P’Tah’s comment. He smiled over at Pandura, but she seemed too preoccupied to notice.

  The Guild Representative recovered his wit, and asked, “Which anomalies do you refer to, Master P’Tah? There were several, as you say.”

  Tarbet’s Sage explained. “The subjects were all young violent male offenders. When daily given a mandatory dose of artificial humors to settle violent impulses, many improved remarkably when provoked—as your report stated. Yet, nearly half had serious side effects. Several withdrew into a near-stupor after a week, and lost their ability to function normally in basic activities. Some eventually killed themselves. A number reacted violently to provoking stimuli, just as before. Still others developed a form of dementia with odd sexual behaviors—though it is likely that the sexual proclivities were already present, and inhibition was simply erased by the dementia.”

  The Guild Mage fidgeted. “What is your point?”

  P’Tah shrugged. “I question the wisdom of using this elixir so widely in our academies simply to manage unruly children. While extreme cases doubtless benefit from such potions, human nature suggests that overworked instructors will increasingly use them for most any student with disciplinary problems. That could produce consequences worse than the disorders we are trying to fix. The idea will continue to develop that violence and lack of discipline are merely ‘illnesses,’ and not a matter of character. It’s always easier to administer potions than to discipline difficult students relentlessly and effectively.”

  Mnemosynae of Aztlan stood. “I agree!”

  Tarbet felt like melting into his seat.

  The Guild Representative laughed. “Madam, please! The Temples are always trying to explain everything by creation codes!”

  “I also agree with you,” returned Mnemosynae, her large violet eyes flaring. “Too often the Temple—both in Lumekkor and Aztlan—has had overly simplistic assump
tions about the causes of human behavior. I think the Orthodox sage from Sa-utar is right in pointing out that neither creation codes nor glandular humors determine our behavior quite as completely as our respective magi have imagined. Childhood environment also plays an important role—I’ve seen Guild and Temple research that suggest this also.”

  P’Tah said, “True, Mistress Mnemosynae, though environment is no more a determiner than any of the other factors. People often rise above their environments, as well as their heritage, and physical debilitation, if they believe they can. Your own Temple studies suggesting genetic determiners for same-sex preference have fared even more miserably whenever reviewing magi have tried to duplicate your initial findings…”

  Tarbet wanted to shut him down, but could not; it would be a tacit admission that scholastic inquiry in Sa-utar was no longer free to follow the evidence. Still, he felt Avarnon-Set’s silent eyes burn. Keep talking, P’Tah; it may well be your last opportunity to do so as a respected sage.

  Mnemosynae nodded, and smiled. “Yes, but can we systematically expect people to ‘rise above’ as you say? Most often, they do not. That being so, how do you suggest we curb the epidemic crime among our younger generations, which disrupts our academies to the point of near paralysis? Youngsters cannot learn in an atmosphere governed by fear. We only avoid this in the Temple complexes by strict ideological control, but that stifles creative thought, which we need if we are to progress.”

  P’Tah smiled, and bowed his head to her. “I have no magic potions, Mistress. I suspect that creation codes, bodily humors, and environment all play a role in weighting our root inclinations in various directions. Yet in the end, we must recognize that people do have a real choice in whether or not to follow those inclinations. We must begin to hold them accountable again…”