Schisms

by V. A. Jeffrey

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was early dawn and the sky was light pink from a crowning sun. Demos's head was spinning. He'd spent a few nights at his family's home, Priti-Vast, a very large house in the High Quarter, after having spied for Eliaz and Lady Diti. The wealthy patrons of the Golden Temple, in fact, the entire community was divided among the Aishanna-La. Some viewed it as a needed winnowing out of the unwanted and others were outraged. Those who worshiped other gods began to fear the power of the Ainash.

  “It will be like during the times of the Kushigyar!” Were the mutterings in many homes, around humble fire hearths and in richly decorated interior rooms. His own family was in consternation as to what it meant for the future, but they had no answers. His father, a pragmatic man, was resolutely behind the prevailing order of things after a long night of worried discussion around the evening meal.

  “This family has nothing to fear from the Ainash. Because of our financial support of the temple our family name has always been in good standing in this community and we are liked by the priestly families and the nobility. Why, even the high priest has spoken well of you, Demos. In fact, all of your instructors speak well of you. Do not allow the passions of others to derail your future. When you go back to the temple keep your head down and do not cause trouble. Do as you are told, perform your work well, as you always do, and perhaps you will rise even higher at the temple and in the good fathers' esteem. That is the best way. Do not worry over this drama, my son. It will blow away like everything else. A good name in his community is what keeps a man. The good name stays forever.” Said his father.

  “Yes,” agreed his mother, an elegant, willowy woman who managed to retain some respect among the nobility though she married beneath her station, “listen to your father and ignore this trouble. It will be over soon enough.” Demos inwardly shuddered at the mention of the high priest. He was no longer convinced that currying favor and aspiring to be on the scribal council was the right thing to do. Everything the priesthood did seemed tainted but he dare not share these thoughts with his parents, especially his father.

  He took time to visit an inn. The wedding celebrations were set for late in the morning and then the king would introduce the new queen to the public again at the arena. Everyone in the city would be there. There was a heavy air of wildness coupled with uncertainty. Emotions were high and people were growing restive. Even this early in the morning the most popular inns were brimming with more people than usual. His parents hated the inns but he felt and heard the pulse the bowels of Jhis in the inns. Dressed in an old, slightly worn tunic and sandals he asked for his usual light wheat beer and sat in his usual corner. The ever irreverent Zephyros, a casual and slightly reckless friend entered, saw him and went to his table. Demos was slightly relieved. Perhaps he would have some useful news. He usually did.

  “Demos! I have not seen you in so long. Some wedding it will be, eh?”

  “I was at home. We all watched the procession from the rooftop. Impressive.”

  “It looked as if the sky rained flower petals! And after all that screeching the former queen did right before they came into the city. The hag is lucky she wasn't whipped and thrown into a cell.”

  “Well, I am glad it did not come to that.” Zephyros laughed broadly. Demos forced a chuckle and drank his beer.

  “So Zephyros, have you heard anything, besides the wedding?”

  “Oho!” His friend rubbed his hands together with relish.

  “What?”

  “The word around the city is that the king has something special prepared for his bride in the games today.” Demos lifted a brow.

  “Special? Like what?” He asked. Zephyros slapped him on the arm.

  “You might know. After all,” he said, looking around, “you work at the temple.” He whispered this last part. Demos felt heat rising in him. “And I do not mean that business the deposed queen was wailing about.”

  “I've been at home these past few days.”

  “So those greedy slavers let you have a day off?”

  “When their whips are worn down.” Demos joked but he was keen to know what his sometime friend meant.

  “Come Zephyros, what is it? Don't tantalize me.” Said Demos. Zephyros grinned, which irritated him. He stifled the urge to punch him.

  “Well, they've gathered a fair amount of people for the arenas. Something about taxes not being paid. None of them are people you know, are they?”

  “Not personally.” Demos was beginning to feel sick. He already knew this, before the city had found out.

  “One man is to be chosen to fight in the games instead of all of them. He will champion the Ainash.”

  “Champion the priesthood? They do not have anything to do with the games.”

  “They will this time. Some of them were already arrested, Demos. They are arresting even more. The whole priesthood, it seems. The gods! Where have you been? The temple is surrounded by the King's Guard.”

  “The temple.” Demos felt as if cotton had filled his mouth. It was as if the conversation had slipped into mere dream.

  “Demos? I did not mean. . .I hope you are not in trouble?” Zephyros now seemed at least a little concerned. Suddenly Demos could not finish his beer.

  “No, no trouble for me. It would seem things change with the flip of a coin. Excuse me, Zephyros but I need to go!”

  “But they won't let you in! Demos, wait! They might arrest you!” But Demos was already leaving the inn. His thoughts were racing, spinning. Things were being turned upside down. He worried for Eliaz, the old man he often secretly worked for. He raced through the streets. He could see the rise of the temple towers and the minarets of the palace up ahead and the looming arena to the left across the bridge. The main streets were becoming crowded. Women were gathering at the cisterns and the central well. He slowed down so as not to draw attention and rounded a corner. Down the street, sure as Zephyros had said, the King's Guard had surrounded the temple and some soldiers had a group of nine priests in custody. There was Undum, Luriah and Mustapheh among the arrested and the one man he secretly loathed even more than all the other priests, the high priest Silam Tybbl-Awat, Lord Tybbl-Awat's son, to his surprise were among them but to his horror, so was Eliaz. Eliaz looked even more frail and ill than usual. Demos approached a man who was leading along a pack mule.

  “What is happening at the temple? Why is the King's Guard there?” The man shrugged and kept on his way. Exasperated Demos looked around for anyone to speak to.

  “What do you need my son?” Asked an old Jurite man. He was tall, wiry and he was leaning upon a wooden staff.

  “What is happening at the temple? Do you know?”

  “Do you not know what is happening? One small breeze can blow along many things. Where the breeze itself comes from the things blown cannot see with eyes.”

  “What?”

  “You are a part of what is happening, what is moving here. It was decreed by the king that those who instituted the higher tax in the temple upon the people who could not pay it be brought to the arena. One, among those whom these very men sought to kill will be chosen to champion them. Interesting how these things work out, is it not?” Realization dawned in Demos.

  “Yes, yes. So you see now.”

  “But this is my fault! My friend Eliaz, he is with them but he does not deserve this? Why would the king do this?” Demos thought the man strange and his gaze was intense, as if he could read his naked thoughts.

  “The king is capricious and unwise. He has no love for the priests of this temple nor does he have any real love for the Aishanna-La but for his own pride, desires and pleasures. As for your friend, long has he chosen to serve the corrupt priests of the temple, yet he will not suffer the fate you imagine. One day the temple will be swept clean and the old ways returned. Do not do like your friend and hide yourself and what you are. Eliaz is a good man, but he is a part of a corrupt priesthood. When the ax falls, it falls upon all, not this one her
e and that one there. Stop gazing at the temple and go to the arena dungeons. See your friend there for he has one last request of you, Demos.”

  “Sir, are you a seer?”

  “That and more.” The man said and pointed a long arm toward the arena. Crowds were making their way there already, across the bridge over King's Lake. Demos thought for a moment. He turned back.

  “How did you know my. . .” The man was gone. But the man's voice still sounded in his mind like an echo. Demos followed the wagon the priests had been roped to at a distance through the city, across the bridge, barely able to keep on his feet through the jostling crowds headed for the arena. As he got nearer to the arena he could hear the exuberance of the crowd. The royal wedding was being performed at the palace. The king and queen had not yet arrived. He stayed back as the guards herded the priests downstairs into the dungeons. He waited and when they'd come back up and he saw a chance he quietly descended into the dungeons. He heard footsteps behind him. It was Uwain, Lady Diti's personal guard. Uwain only took the slightest notice of him, pushing past him, descending quickly. He looked like he was on a mission. From Lady Diti? Uwain seemed determined and if he was aware that someone was following behind him he did not seem to care. Around the corner Uwain swept until he was a mere shadow. Demos had not realized what a soul despairing place the arena was until he'd come to its bowels. Cheap incense burned in holders everywhere to mask entrenched, evil smells. Here the sun god's light did not touch, only the flame from torches. The growing roar of the crowds filling in above seemed a lifetime away but he heard the wails and moans of people who were brought here for execution, the talk of fighters prepared for battle, death and glory and the roaring, wailing beasts, all these noises mingling together in a soup if fear, rage and despair. Demos turned the corner of the hall and saw a small phalanx of soldiers standing by the main doors to the dungeon.

  “What are you doing down here?” Asked a guard.

  “I came to see someone. A priest of the temple. His name is Eliaz.”

  “What do you need to see him for?” Demos thought fast. He could not find anything clever to say but the strange man had told him that he must see Eliaz.

  “He is an old family friend. I came to give him comfort. Please?” The guards looked at each other and the first one shrugged.

  “The man will die. It is a surety. First, we need to make sure you are not carrying anything. Stand there.” Said the guard and they searched him and let him enter. One of the guards started to lead him to a tiny room where the priests were all sitting.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “I need to speak with him alone.” The guard gave him a puzzled look but then he had Eliaz carried from the cell and they put them in another room together. This room was cleaner than the rest. Eliaz was very sick and sweating. Demos nearly fell to tears.

  “Eliaz, my father. What have they done?” He said when they were finally alone.

  “Do not weep, child. You did well.”

  “What they have done is not fair! This was not supposed to happen!”

  “I know. But it has and who knows how these things will go? What matters is that there is a chance the people can escape.”

  “But how? They are all going to die, Eliaz!”

  “We do not know that. And there is something burning within me. Important things you must get from my house. It is at my writing desk. . .” Eliaz shook with convulsions and clutched at his chest.

  “Eliaz!”

  “My son. It has all been too much for me. Get the keys from my pocket and the book. The book of the writings of Nagilla the desert father.”

  “You have a copy of it? The Book of Nagilla?” Demos was surprised. “But why do I need it? Is it not kept in the temple library?”

  “Long ago I made a copy for myself. Right when they began changing things and they discarded the writings of Nagilla. His wisdom, transmitted from God will be lost. In my old age, God has granted even me, a vision, one vision and he said I must record and expound on the writings of Nagilla, and the writings of other prophets and scribes moved by God to write the holy book. These writings I kept and hid them but I did not teach them. You must get them before someone else finds and destroys them or they will be lost forever. Please Demos, do this for me. There is also the matter of the girl. The girl I rescued from the fires. . .” Demos looked in confusion. Eliaz's voice rasped raggedly.

  “What girl, father?” But Eliaz was growing incoherent. Finally, after some time, he became lucid again.

  “Please. . . ,” He labored heavily with the words, “do these things for me, my son.”

  “I will, father.”

  “Now. . . let me rest. . . to my resting place, now.” Demos fetched the house keys from him and hid them in his own clothes, shedding tears. Eliaz was dying in his arms. Demos did not understand what any of this meant. All he did his entire life was copy and write and follow orders. What would he do now?

  “Someone, help! Help me!” Demos cried out. A guard quickly came in.

  “What is it? What is wrong with him?”

  “He's very ill. All of this, it is too much for him!” Eliaz's breathing labored under a death rattle now, beads of sweat pouring from his temples.

  “There is nothing I can do. He is here by royal order.” Said the guard, not unkindly.

  “Water.” Eliaz rasped. The guard looked uncertain.

  “Water!” Demos demanded. The guard called for water for Eliaz.

  “Eliaz. I never thought things would turn out like this.”

  “Just get the book, Demos and make sure the other priests do not see it. No one but Ilim should have it. Ilim the difficult. Ilim the faithful.” When the guard had come back with a cup of water Eliaz was dead. Demos wept bitterly.

  Uwain wondered in all this mess how the queen – in his mind she would never simply be a lady – would fare. He had thought numerous times of going back to his home, the vast, dark forests of green and the frosts of his homeland where sandals were only worn in the summer months. He had grown weary of living here, tired of the sand in his eyes, tired of court intrigues, tired of all of it, but he could never leave Queen Diti while she was afloat in the mire of Khalit's court. He hoped this plan worked better than the last one or else they would all find themselves in the furnace or in front of wild lions in the arena. He had no fear of fighting in the arena, but the furnace! – he shivered. To meet Sollus, the sun god in such a state would not gain His respect. Bound and burned. There was no glory in such a death.

  Seeing he was a queen's guard, they allowed him entry. He was here to see Amat.

  Amat, who looked washed out and shrunken, his eyes darting about like flies, led him into his dank, jailer's room.

  “We need to speak privately, Amat.” Amat got up again and closed the door. Though he tried hard to hide it Uwain knew he was in dread for his life.

  “What is it? You were here before with the Lady Diti. It was she who got me into this!”

  “No, it was your greed that got you into this or have you forgotten the gold you were given for all the innocent people you have locked up in here?” Uwain spat the words in disgust and nodded to the accounting tablets Amat had lying under his table in a basket. Amat turned even paler.

  “I will get to the point. I am here on orders from the Most Honored Lady Diti. You are supposed to choose the champion, is this right?”

  “Yes.” Amat wiped his brow with a rag, his hand shaking.

  “Have you done so, Amat? We do not have much time. The king and the queen will be arriving within a few hours.” He reached into a secret fold within his tunic and pulled out a satchel. He handed it to the arena master.

  “What is it?” Asked Amat, taking the satchel.

  “Venom of the giki serpent. Apply it on whatever weapons your champion chooses.” Uwain saw the light of hope dawn on Amat's face.

  “Tell the Most Honored Lady Diti that I thank her! I thank her from the very pit of my heart!”
He groveled.

  “Pit, indeed! You heed the ways of the sun god?” He asked. Amat nodded.

  “May your life end in glory and fire.”

  “And to you also, my friend.” Said Amat. Uwain bowed curtly and left the dungeons. On his way up the stairs and into the bright light of the sun he thought on it. A man who saw a chance to live again. It was a marvelous thing, for he had seen it and even experienced it. At one moment in time a man either panics in dread or resigns himself to die and then a corner is turned and he finds hope. Nothing much lifted his spirits these days except Queen Diti's beautiful, kind face. And circumstances like these. Even in a faithless dog like Amat.