by Dan Davis
Before he finished speaking, an older man came striding through the door, waving away a gaggle of followers who made to enter. He wore a clean white robe, as did the other men he had sent away, and Herkuhlos knew they were priests.
“Lord, I am Malon and I am the servant of Torkos Who is Most High.” His bow was little more than a nod. “You have defeated Kapol and you are now chief here but I am come to tell you that you must now do homage to the god Torkos or you will certainly be destroyed.”
“Torkos?” Herkuhlos said, glancing at Wetelos still standing just inside the doorway. “He is a demon, no?”
The priest Malon bristled. “Certainly he is not! He is a god. The greatest of the gods and you will not insult his greatness with your words, lord.”
Herkuhlos chuckled. “The greatest of the gods? Greater than the shining sky?” He pointed at the ceiling. “Greater than the sun? Greater than Kolnos the Wolf God? I am impressed, Malon, you will have to tell me about this god. What is he the god of, exactly? What is his realm?”
“Your mockery is unseemly,” Malon said, scowling. “But I will take your words as though you were a pious man and I will answer them with pious words of my own. Torkos has come to this place to deliver to the people the great change that they need above all else. All the people of the land, Heryos, Furun, and Seal Men will join in worship of Torkos and his greatness will remake the land so that all peoples prosper and win wealth for themselves and for their god.”
“What of the other gods?” Herkuhlos asked. “I am sworn to Kolnos and so I must make sacrifices to him also.”
Malon tilted his head to acknowledge the point. “All gods are worshipped in their proper place but no other god protects us here as does the mighty Torkos. And so to him the greatest portion will be delivered.”
“Portion? Delivered? What does Torkos want from me?”
“The regular sacrifices must be provided. It was Kapol’s duty to gather the sacrifices and to deliver them to He Who Is Strongest.”
Herkuhlos waved a hand at him and the others outside. “You are acolytes of Torkos. What is your duty here?”
“I am a priest,” Malon said, drawing himself up. “I perform the rites. And as chief it is your duty to do your part in those rites.”
Herkuhlos knew that much was true, at least. “Do you help to deliver the sacrifices?”
“We accompany the journeys of the sacrifices, yes, and perform the rites over them. In fact, lord, the full moon sacrifices are now overdue and awaiting the rites. Not only that, lord, but the blessing of the sacred oxen must be performed the day after tomorrow so that the soil can be prepared ready for the planting.” Malon stared expectantly.
“You need me to perform this rite?”
“Indeed, lord. It is quite simple but of course must be performed without error and so we must begin your education today. This very morning, and all of this day and all of the next, for it must be performed with complete perfection or it will mean ruin for all of your people.”
Herkuhlos shifted in his seat. He was beginning to find that the hard wood beneath his backside was decidedly uncomfortable. “Well, priest of Torkos, I have many important matters to attend to today so you will forgive me if I ask you to leave now.” He smiled.
“Lord,” Malon said, aghast. “There is nothing more important than the rite.”
Wetelos spoke up from the doorway. “Your lord gave you a command, Malon.”
The priest turned on Wetelos and hissed a rapid reply. “I will not be addressed by a false priest and a slave. Point your tongue elsewhere, boy.” His rebuke delivered he turned back to Herkuhlos with his obsequiousness. “Lord, you must understand that this rite must be performed by the chief. And that chief is you.”
“Well, some rites are more important than others, Malon, and I don’t find important the nonsense that the Furun go through to get their bread. You will leave now.”
Malon stood his ground. “It is not a Furun rite. There are no Furun here. We are all one people under Torkos, lord.”
Herkuhlos snorted at that. “Malon, you defy me because you know that priests are holy and any man who would harm a priest would bring a curse upon himself. But you should know that I will happily slay a priest of Torkos or indeed all the priests of Torkos and I would find no ill fortune for I am half divine myself. For your own sake, Malon, when I tell you to do something, you will do it immediately. I will not tell you again.”
His face draining of colour, the priest hastily bowed, hitched up his robe and hurried out with a scowl. Herkuhlos was pleased to see him go but that business of the rite had concerned him and of course he would never slay a priest if he could help it, immortal blood or not, for such matters were not to be trifled with. Even if he did go through their absurd rite then all that would have to wait.
Herkuhlos gestured at Wetelos and the young man approached. “Lord.”
“I’m sure you are thankful I didn’t kill you now, aren’t you?” Herkuhlos asked with a smile.
“Yes, lord,” Wetelos said flatly.
“Tell me what happened when they rescued you.”
“It was no rescue, lord. They wished to kill you all. Kapol meant for you to die but when he saw me he grabbed me and dragged me away and ordered his men to leave you and the Furun and come home.”
“That sounds like a rescue to me. So what did Kapol do to you?”
“He did nothing.”
“Did he punish you for becoming a captive?”
“No, lord.”
“But he surely questioned you about me?”
“A little, lord. He asked why I had not been killed and I told him I had helped lead you to him.”
“And he left you alive?”
“He did, lord.”
“Why?”
“He found me useful, lord.”
Herkuhlos gestured at the open door. “That Malon does not seem to find you useful. And he called you a slave. The shame of your captivity still clings to you.”
“That is true, lord.”
“He called you a false priest, too. What did he mean by that?”
Wetelos shrugged. “I read signs, lord. But as I know nothing of the gods or the rites, I am not a priest. Nor would I wish to be.” Again he shrugged. “I merely read signs, lord.”
“Signs? In the entrails of the sacrificed and the like?”
“In the birds, lord. In the fishes and in the waters.” He shrugged again, looking away. “And other things. That is all.”
Herkuhlos nodded. There were always such men in any clan and while some would be the priests and perform the rites, others would first be warriors. Likewise, there were some priests who might have become warriors but instead the gods and the rite called to them and so they put down their weapons. Wetelos was a warrior, that much was obvious, and the priests resented his meddling in their realm. Other warriors, however, would surely prefer to ask men like Wetelos for advice on small matters, and that may be why Kapol had been so keen to rescue him with his own hand.
“I have slain your master, Wetelos, so I am your master once again.”
“Yes, lord.”
“And as your lord and master, I will require your advice. I do not know these people and this place and I will trust you to tell me of it. Speak honestly and help me and you will be rewarded. Do you understand?”
“I do, lord.”
“So tell me this, then. Are there men here who mean to do me harm?”
Wetelos nodded. “Some of Kapol’s warriors are talking about leaving you and returning to Ghebol, his father, in the next valley. They are afraid that if they don’t, Ghebol will be angry and kill them.”
“But Ghebol will not kill them if they are my men, as I will kill Ghebol.”
“They do not believe that you will, lord. They are sure that Ghebol will kill you and if he does not then Torkos the Devourer surely will, for he cannot be resisted.”
“After seeing what I did to Kapol, they still fear that Ghebol will defeat
me in a challenge? Is he so great a warrior?”
“He is, lord, but they do not believe Ghebol will accept your challenge. He would kill you from afar, or with all his number at once, or with trickery, or some other means.”
“What do you think?”
“I think Ghebol is not the fool that his son Kapol was.”
“Kapol was a fool?”
“He always had a high opinion of his own strength. Justified of course because he was stronger than every man he ever fought. Until you, lord.”
Herkuhlos nodded. “So some of the warriors consider abandoning me but the rest of the men will follow me?”
“I’m not sure about that either, lord. The men of the village were not happy when Ghebol and Kapol came and defeated them. Their chief was killed and some of their best men with them and Kapol was made chief with his warriors to rule this village.”
Herkuhlos began to see the story of this place. Once, it had been a Furun village that had been conquered by Heryos who had ruled over them and taken the women for wives and they had lived that way for some generations but then recently Torkos had come and with him Ghebol and Kapol. There were layers of authority here and the warriors that had come with Kapol, like Sunhus, Gelbus, and Desgen were one layer ruling another. “Surely, I am a better chief for these other men than Kapol was.”
“Actually, you are worse.”
“Worse! How am I worse?”
“They are afraid of you. They do not understand you or what you are doing here. They say you are more than mortal, less than a god, and so there is no place for you on the earth.”
Herkuhlos thought that they were probably right about that at least. “What are they going to do about it?”
“There is a man named Helek and he spoke last night of patience. Helek and his ancestors have been here a long time. His forefathers have been chiefs before now and his word is trusted and though his sons were angry most others agreed to wait for now before taking action against you. But I did not hear all that was said for I was discovered listening and had to leave the longhouse so I cannot say for certain what was decided.”
“So there are two factions in this village, the remnants of Kapol’s warband and the warriors led by this Helek, and both mean to see me gone.”
“Yes, lord. And of course the priests of Torkos will betray you the first moment they can. Although I have not seen it, I believe one of them has already gone with one of Kapol’s men to warn Ghebol that you are here and have killed his son. They took Kapol’s head with them.”
Herkuhlos pinched his nose. “What will Ghebol do, do you think? Come here to kill me?”
“Yes, lord, he will but he is cunning and his heart is as cold as the winter seas. I do not think even the death of his son would lead him to rash action.” Wetelos hesitated a moment. “What will you do, lord?”
Herkuhlos leaned back and looked at the man. “Why are you helping me, Wetelos? It seems you are the only one here who means me well and yet I was your captor. You seem to hold no grudge for me and perhaps I am a fool but I trust your advice. How is it you are a man of such noble character? Is your lineage as ancient and venerable as Helek’s?”
“It is not a matter of honour. I told you, lord, I read the signs.” He shook his head. “The signs guide my actions.”
“And the signs tell you I will be victorious over Torkos?”
“With regards to you, lord, the signs show me only great blood and death.”
Herkuhlos stared at him. “And why would you want that?”
The fair man shrugged. “Torkos the Devourer deserves death. As do many other men around here.”
“On that we are agreed.”
Before he could ask more questions, a commotion in the doorway made him rise and look for his spear but it was only Pehur returning with other men in tow. “Lord!” he cried. “I have found your armour and Sunhus, Gelbus, and Desgen have helped me to return it to you.”
Pehur and the three warriors from the clans of the Rasga carried in his shining bronze armour and relief flooded through him. He rushed forward to where it was placed and touched the cool bronze scales, the rounded, shining helm and the four long, cunningly shaped pieces for his limbs. With this, his skin of bronze, and with the will of the gods, he had a far greater chance of beating Torkos.
He stood and looked up across the longhouse where Genna stood staring at him. Through the open door he caught sight of the warriors and farmers of this village looking in, trying to see their new, feared, half-immortal chief. He would have to show himself to them and he would have to force them into obedience. He needed them to follow him or else his plans would fail and he would be defeated and killed. It seemed, however, that almost everyone in this village was an enemy and so he would have to show them that he was just as strong as the false god Torkos and he would have to control Kapol’s warriors and Helek and the men of the clan and he would have to stop Malon and the priests of Torkos working against him.
“Pehur,” he said. “Have my armour polished to a shine and have my lion skin cleaned.”
He had to be more than a chief to repress these people.
Herkuhlos would have to become a god.
15. Rite
Everyone in the village was present for the rite and all were in their proper places in a huge circle around the ring ditch that surrounded the field. The head of each family stood with sons on his right hand and his wives and daughters on his left with his sworn men and slaves behind. In the centre, the chief’s oxen stood together with their hides painted with crosses and circles. The pair of oxen were harnessed to what the people here called an ard, a thin frame with a long sharp stick that dug into the ground to churn lines through the soil into which the farmers planted their seeds. Few men were wealthy enough to keep oxen only for pulling the ard and most families used slaves to push and pull it which was a far slower process and tended to shorten the lives of those who toiled through the soil like beasts. Those without slaves or with only one or two had their children help to scratch through the ground with hoes and these families grew less wheat and remained poorer and hungrier.
Use of the chief’s oxen might be shared amongst the other men for their own fields but they had to give something in turn to make it worthwhile for the chief as the oxen would otherwise be used to pull his carts. These carts would carry firewood and poles from the patches of woodland belonging to the village and to bring mounds of leaflitter and dung to lay on the fields to help the crops grow or to carry produce for trade with other villages.
It all seemed absurd to Herkuhlos. They had cattle here and they milked them and made cheese and killed them for meat and so he did not understand why they had to grow wheat at all. Bread was a food for slaves and for the Furun and the Kalekka but the Heryos here seemed half Furun themselves and they took the growing of wheat seriously. So seriously in fact that it was sacred to them, as it was to the Furun. On one of the great slabs of the central tomb in the village someone long ago had carved a pair of oxen pulling an ard and had drawn the wheels of a wagon above. The priest Malon had explained the wheel was the symbol of the turning of the seasons and the wheeling of the sun through the sky but Herkuhlos had known that much already, for all Heryos learned it as children. The ard, however, was strange to him and the growing of wheat was good only for beer so he did not take this rite seriously.
Still, the people of his village did and so he had worn his armour for the rite with his lion pelt over it and he knew by their faces that they were impressed and even afraid of him. His legs and arms and his body shone with the reflected light of the sun and they had surely seen his divinity manifest. He welcomed their awe. With it, he would make them follow him to attack the warband of Torkos and so he could fulfil his oath to the Wolf God. That was why he had to go through with this rite. Once it was done and the oxen and land were blessed, he could lead his new warriors in the attack against his enemies.
Rites back home in the east were for the warriors only, the
only people that mattered, and were carried out away from the eyes of the clan but here everyone was witness to it, even the slaves, which was another madness to add to the others. At first, the silent gaze of all these people had distracted him and made him feel overly conscious of all his actions and speech and his movements and words had felt awkward.
But now he was concentrating so hard to recall everything that he was supposed to do those worries had fallen away and now he cared only about getting to the end of the rite without making a mistake for any deviation would be catastrophic for the fertility of the land.
Standing beside Malon, Herkuhlos said the words of the rite in the proper order every time he was prompted and then the priests brought forth the ageing bull they had prepared for sacrifice. Like the oxen standing beside them, this bull had been painted with symbols in red and blue and it stood tethered with its head down. The priests gave him the knife. It was ancient and fashioned from beautiful red flint and while Malon’s priests held the bull by the horns he reached under the neck and put the point in the centre of the cross painted over the great vein.
“Great Mother,” Herkuhlos said, “bless this earth and pour forth your bounty upon it for this people.” He thrust the blade into the bull’s neck and sawed down to open the flesh. A great flood of hot blood shot out and the bull roared and reared up, lifting the two priests off their feet. Herkuhlos slammed his hands down on top of the bull’s skull to keep it from escaping and ruining the rite but the flint knife cracked in half on the skull as it thrashed.
Still, he wrestled it down and then its forelegs collapsed and finally it lay down to bleed its last upon the earth. The priests were unhappy about something but still they gathered the blood in wooden bowls and painted it on the frightened oxen and splashed it about the earth.
Malon crouched in the dirt by the pooling blood, his robe soaking up the red stain, and stood with the broken blade in his hands. He raised it high so that everyone could see and pointed his bloody hands at Herkuhlos.
“The Blade of the Mother has been broken. The blade that your people honoured since the Mother blessed you with this land. This is a sign sent by the Great Mother that she is angered by your new chief. So angered that she has broken the sacred blade handed down by your forefathers since the day the earth was made. This land is now cursed and your wheat shall wither and die from it and your cattle shall bring forth twisted and deformed calves and your people will starve and your sons and your daughters will grow sick and die and your people will be no more.”