“I don’t understand. Why do you care so much what happens to me?” Tiva had asked A’Nu-Ahki. “I took your son away, and turned him toward the Hollow. I acted like a whore! Yet all you’ve ever done is wish blessings on me—and now this!”
“Is that really how you see yourself—as a whore?”
She had let that turn around in her head for a moment. “I don’t really know anymore. That’s what Henumil thinks of me. He cursed me, and banished me from the presence of E’Yahavah, and all.”
“Henumil?”
“You know, my father.” The word had stuck in her throat.
“And he speaks for E’Yahavah?”
“Well, he’s a priest and a Dragon-slayer, isn’t he?”
“I suppose. But does that give him the ultimate authority to banish you from E’Yahavah’s presence? Wouldn’t E’Yahavah have something to say about that?”
She remembered that the old bitterness had briefly taken hold. “If he does, he didn’t say anything to me!”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Look, what do you want from me, anyway? I’m a living, breathing, walking mistake! How can you even want me in your family?”
He had paused on the trail, and turned to face her. “What do you want for yourself, Tiva?”
She had wept. “Aeden! I wanted to go back to Aeden—to find happiness with your son! He used to really care about me, you know. He’s the only one who ever did—except for Farsa maybe—and now, you!”
He had wiped her unkempt hair from where it had fallen over her face and gotten stuck in her tears. He said, “I think he still does—even if he’s not very good at showing it. As for Aeden, isn’t that what we all want?”
“I s’pose.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, what did you think would bring you to Aeden?”
Tiva really had not wanted to go into all the morbid details, but she felt he deserved an honest answer. “I wanted to run free with your son—to be like Ish’Hakka before the Lie and the Curse. I didn’t want to have to hide myself anymore. I wanted happiness and laughter instead of frustration and tears. I wanted beauty to be beautiful and celebration to be joyous.”
“Is that what you found at Grove Hollow?”
“At first, yes! It was so real, so different from my father’s house.”
“What went wrong?”
“Everything! Just when I thought I’d found happiness, it would always slip away somehow like water through my hands.”
“I’ve been to Aeden, you know—the real Aeden. I carried your ancestor back from its very gates.”
“I didn’t know.”
“It’s well documented—even written in the Testament of Urugim. I’m surprised your parents never mentioned it.”
“I’m not! Leave it to Henumil not to mention the important stuff.”
“Oh, he’s not all bad.”
She hadn’t wanted to get off into a discussion about her father. “What was it like?”
“Pardon?”
“Aeden. What’s it like?”
Tiva remembered they had started to walk again.
The Old Man had smiled. “I can tell you it’s not a magic land where only fun things happen, and everything exists just to bring peace and pleasure. It’s beautiful, but lethal to those who approach it with the wrong kind of heart. It can be frightening even for those who come with the right kind. It’s not what any of us expect. There’s a wildness and goodness about the place quite beyond anything we know out here.”
“What else?”
“To be honest, I didn’t get to see all that much of it. But I can tell you a little about what it means to see it restored.”
“Will it really be restored—for us, I mean?”
“Yes. But it won’t be easy, and it won’t be quite the same.”
“Nothing ever is, is it?”
A’Nu-Ahki had sighed. “No, I suppose not. I can assure you that restoration isn’t some kind of double-talk for another tired Lit religion that rubs your face endlessly in past mistakes. Celebration can be joyful and even imperfect beauty, beautiful. Peace and pleasure can exist now for us only in part because of the price E’Yahavah will pay. Later, full restoration shall come; but it has only progressed a small ways yet. The gift you and I share is a miracle, but it’s not magic. Our suffering is real, but it has an end.”
A light had somehow entered her heart, though she was still trying to put it into words…
Tiva returned to the present, while Sutara pulled alongside her on the trail, and the men continued their mock argument.
“If you don’t mind me saying so, I can’t wait to tell my mother how you got rescued after all that. Now I really know there’s still hope for my father,” said Iyapeti’s wife.
“I don’t mind,” Tiva told her. “If you’ll let me, I’ll go with you.”
“I’d like that.”
The trail bent slightly around a rocky bluff and passed by the Shrine.
Yargat stood outside, waiting for patrons. A flicker of surprise touched his eyes when he saw Tiva walking among the sons of A’Nu-Ahki. Her first impulse was to look down. Then a power rushed through her that she somehow knew was glowing out from her eyes in a way her brother could see. She peered straight into his emptiness as she passed him, though she could not tell if the emotion she felt for him was pity or loathing. A clean thrill shot through her like quickfire when he averted his face from her gaze, and stepped inside the cave.
The path wound down through another patch of thick woods before it emptied into the meadow at the base of the foothills. They strolled in among the trees, Tiva and Sutara chatting while the men walked in front.
“We’ll probably see her at the drydock,” Sutara said, speaking of her mother. “You’ll like her, Tiva. She’s designing the upholstery for the ship’s living quarters.”
“Have you all decided on a name for it yet? I’m no expert, but I thought all large ocean-going ships had names.”
“They do. But according to A’Nu-Ahki and U’Sumi, who’ve been to sea before, they don’t usually name a ship until it’s ready for launch.”
Tiva laughed. “I hope they dream one up that’s wild and chunky.”
The two men, who had been clowning around just a little ways ahead, suddenly fell silent, and came to a halt. Iyapeti pointed to something on the right side of the trail, and said a few words quietly to Khumi.
Tiva and Sutara started to rush forward to see what was wrong.
Iyapeti held up his hand, and ordered them to stop. “Please!” he added, “don’t come any closer.”
Tiva thought she could make out something that stuck out from beneath some vine entangled blueberry bushes.
“What’s the matter?” Sutara asked when her husband again waved her back.
Tiva’s eyes could now focus on the thing that projected ever so slightly from the undergrowth. She grabbed on to Sutara and held her from going forward.
A human hand, stiff but delicate, clutched the soil.
Iyapeti and Khumi moved the bushes aside, and choked back half-spoken curses. Khumi turned, stumbled, and vomited his breakfast.
Tiva saw the fresh corpse of a woman, mostly unclothed, and dumped there like a pile of used-up human garbage. Something like a cockatrice claw had ripped her throat open. Yet only human instruments could have devised the bloody symbols carved into her exposed midriff.
Sutara trembled, building up to unleash her wail.
Tiva held onto her, and let her shriek repeatedly into her shoulder, while Iyapeti finished clearing the foliage, and Khumi raced back up to the monastery for help.
She knew by this that the body belonged to Sutara’s mother.
W
hen Inguska awoke again in his mossy hide, he found the forest quiet. Another day at least must have passed, for a mid-morning sun bathed the trees in a deceptively cheery gold-green. He crawled out of the ferns, and wondered what had happened to him. Did I have a sudden fever? Perhaps I ate a
poisoned berry.
He was about to thank Samyaza that his dreams had only been hallucinations, when he saw the blood-spattered tree. Scuff marks in the dirt and a few discarded straps told Inguska that some men had really murdered a bound woman while he had watched from the ferns. What happened to me?
He closed his eyes, and sought answers in the vision of Heaven’s Daughters. They came to his mind’s eye, lovely as ever, but stern and silent.
They are displeased. It must have been a distraction of the Basilisk, to waylay me further from my sacred mission!
For a moment, Inguska wondered if the murdered woman had really been Galkuna, the concubine of Satori. Probably not—maybe in my fever she reminded me of her. It is a shame that the sickness hit me when it did. I might otherwise have helped her. What a corrupt place this valley of Q’Enukki’s children must be for such things to happen!
He noticed a line of disturbed underbrush and a streak of blood—as if the woman had somehow dragged herself away to die. He followed the spoor a long way up a gentle slope through the trees, until it met another well-used trail down from the foothills. Apparently, someone had already found her and taken her away from where she had finally died and bled out. He doubted the woman could have survived with so much blood lost.
How long was I asleep? Inguska wondered again, figuring it must have been at least an additional day. With no way to know, he finally shrugged, and continued onto the new trail, which ran down toward the village and his final destination. It surprised him how close he had been to the forest’s edge. The other trail, where the murder had occurred, must also have led to the same village. It made the brazenness of the crime so much more appalling—as if the perpetrators had sought the thrill of a higher risk of capture. He also marveled that no constable had found him sleeping so near the crime scene. They must have traced her blood trail down the slope.
Inguska felt bad about the dead girl, and wondered who she really was. Then again, soon none of it would matter.
T
he Temple receiving hall of Samyaza’s pyramid complex at Assur’Ayur murmured with confused voices among the lesser functionaries.
Tylurnis greeted the Ambassadors from Lumekkor and Sa-utar with a cordial smile, while Uranna sat silently with stern scorpion-in-glass eyes upon their twin throne. They used this posture to keep the two visiting dignitaries and their entourage uneasy and unsure of themselves.
Lumekkor’s envoy demanded as loudly as diplomatic protocol allowed, “If Samyaza Cultists in our lands are not acting under orders from Assur’Ayur, then whose orders are they acting on?”
The man from Sa-utar added, “Every captured attacker is an Assurim immigrant with a fanatical devotion to Samyaza—if you’ll excuse my putting it that way. These are directed attacks, madam, plain and simple.”
“I agree they are directed,” said Tylurnis. “I simply tell you the truth that they are not directed by Samyaza’s authorized government. You must understand that since the end of the Century War there have been radical independent factions—often financed by the Eastern Corsairs—trying to destabilize our region, and yours. I assure you that we will cooperate fully in rooting out these usurpers who falsely claim to do my master’s bidding.”
The Lumekkor Ambassador softened just a little. “If you wish, we can land troops at Zhri’Nikkor to send a message to the Corsairs.”
Tylurnis did not allow his veiled threat to rattle her. “Your offer is warmly appreciated, but I do not think that we should allow things to escalate to that level just yet.”
“I agree, Lord,” said the Envoy from Sa-utar. “We should use all means at our disposal to solve this crisis diplomatically. While the attackers are all Assurim, several leading Assurim immigrants have denounced the violence. Our constables have found many people in the Samyaza sections of town quite helpful in breaking up several of these assassin rings.”
This news saddened the First Wife, but she did not let it show.
Lumekkor’s Ambassador did not seem too sanguine about Sa-utar’s speaking out, though Tylurnis could see that he would not jeopardize what he no doubt thought was the current geo-political balance by objecting.
“Let us launch our investigation,” said the First Wife of Samyaza. “We must manage this crisis carefully. We would not want hasty action to create an impression among my people that your aim is to make war on Samyaza. That could only bring hostility and ruin on us both.”
“Of course,” said Lumekkor’s Envoy. “If there is any technical aid you feel might enhance your investigation, we are ready to offer it.”
Tylurnis smiled for him. “The spirit of my master burns within me. He is warmly appreciative, and sends greeting to his brother Uzaaz’El, with his thanks. We, his First Wives, are little more than figureheads, but I think you will find the priests and viziers of all the city-states in Assuri and Ufratsis in agreement with us that these violent acts must end. They will cooperate with you completely.”
“We thank you, Great Ladies.”
After the envoys all departed, Tylurnis joined her sister up on their double throne. The courtiers exited the hall at a wave from her hand.
The arms of Uranna drew her into an embrace. Tylurnis sensed with growing sadness that little of her sister remained in the gesture.
“You are conducting this with a subtlety even Isha’Tahar never mastered,” said the throaty masculine voice from ‘Ranna’s lips.
“It is perhaps good that Isha’Tahar has lingered on in her coma,” ‘Nissa said. “The factions still loyal to her are genuinely against the new offensive—yet they will never stop loving you, my Lord, even if they don’t fully understand your cause. I have assured them that your holy war is symbolic rather than literal. We continue to build their faction up as the administrative power in Assuri’s city-states, and in the diplomatic court.”
Uranna’s mouth croaked, “A chancy move, my sphinx, especially after the zeal in the Pyramid Court.” Her hand stroked Tylurnis’ hair.
‘Nissa leaned her head onto her sister’s shoulder. “A calculated risk, yes, but necessary—that way when Lumekkor’s agents penetrate our government, they will find everything in order. The tools of statecraft must reflect those of the regular military—at peace, and helpful to the eyes of our enemy. Every faction must each genuinely believe it represents your ‘true’ spirit—even if they all seem to oppose each other in their methods. I have even fomented a rift within the Temple to facilitate this.”
“I cannot have disunity in my Temple!”
‘Nissa nodded. “It is a cosmetic division only—more a difference in caste, really.”
“Explain.”
She faced Uranna. “The politically visible high priestly mediators desire peace, and think they still speak for you. I’ve busied them with ceremonial tasks since the Pyramid Rally, or else cultivated a sedate way for them to apply your revelation. They are loyal in that they teach you are the very manifestation of E’Yahavah El-N’Lil on Earth. They have a post-Century War hatred of bloodshed for all the right reasons, but would never knowingly betray you.”
Uranna’s lips barely moved. “What about unknowingly?”
‘Nissa laughed. “That is hardly a problem, Lord. It is in the hearts of the rural folk, abused immigrants, and the common worker, that we find our real warriors. Lower priestly messengers inflame them with anti-Lumekkor and anti-Archonic rhetoric. The two castes coexist, and each carries out its purpose, secure in the knowledge that they are the ‘true messengers’ of Samyaza’s Law. When conflicts arise between them however, the cultural and political pressure always falls upon the peace-loving artisan-merchant class to get into step with the warrior-zealots. This is because the warriors interpret your law most naturally, with the smallest allowance for deviation.”
Samyaza said, “Is that not true in all nation-cults?”
Tylurnis answered with an odd, inexplicable sadness, “Not really. Your law commands us to use the sword to force conversion—as you showed u
s at Regati, for example. It is a simple; requiring only that people outwardly submit to your authority, which is all we can realistically expect. Among the Archonic Orthodox and the sons of Q’Enukki, it is usually the opposite. Devotion for them requires an inward change of heart—a freely chosen conviction—at least in principle. Where I grew up, the sacrilegious often had considerable freedom—up to a point.”
Samyaza laughed. “Which is why Seti’s empire has decayed!”
It sometimes amazed Tylurnis how little her divine spirit-husband seemed to grasp the human condition. Perhaps he merely tested her on it.
She said, “With respect, it’s not quite so simple, my Husband. Such conversions as they seek would be better, if enough people had them. But they never do. Don’t mistake me—the Orthodox, and maybe Akh’Uzan, will still rant for a holy war, and possibly get one. But they will hypocritically do so—by obscuring the clearest words of Seti and Q’Enukki —who taught that war should be waged only on unjust foes, and even then, only against military targets. While their history has many inconsistencies here, those who use violence as a tool to advance their so-called ‘orthodoxy’ must still explain away most of the teachings of Seti and Q’Enukki to do so. Even their own people will see it and speak against them.”
“Really?”
‘Nissa nodded. “Oh, they can sometimes exploit a few obscure sacred tablets, but these are limited by their historical context. That is their weakness—they must wait until they are reasonably certain that our attacks truly come from you. Yet, no matter how many attacks we make, more than half of our enemies will never be sure—because it’s unthinkable to them that we should act this way—and these hand-wringing weaklings most often have the Archon’s ear. The more attacks we make, over longer spans of time, the more their political resolve crumbles. Our real problem is Lumekkor—they can move swiftly, and have the greater power to oppress our poor.”
Samyaza’s sigh through Uranna’s lips reminded ‘Nissa of one that a fat man, well gorged on an enormous feast, might make. “Masses of poor who swell beneath me like an ocean rich with rage; my ‘Nissa, I almost feel that it is I who should worship you!”
A Broken Paradise (The Windows of Heaven Book 3) Page 27