Schisms

by V. A. Jeffrey

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  They arrived in barges filled with kata flowers and shaded in white and gold veils from the heat of the high morning sun. Queen Taliat sat amongst creamy silk pillows. Her long, thick black hair streamed down her back and entwined in her tresses were long strings of tiny pearls and her dark amber eyes painted with the faintest shadow of kohl. She was all smiles and serenity, her golden bangles jingled as she waved at the crowds gathered everywhere to see their new queen again. The people outside of the arena followed the royal barges as they floated along King's Lake, a long, narrow man-made lake stretching from the palace to the arena.

  The king thought he had never laid eyes on a woman more desirable. She was even more beautiful than Diti, now that he thought on it. Surely, he could begin building his dynasty with this one. Petals filled the air and the roars of the crowd were deafening. Taliat shined like a star in her gold and white wedding silks and her gold and ruby headdress, like Hetar, the first Queen of Heaven.

  “Does she not shine like Hetar herself, my lords?” The king said laughing, his heart filled with pride. His favorite courtiers who were riding with them all nodded in agreement.

  “The queen is more beautiful than all three of Hec's wives together. Perhaps His Greatness will have to fight the sun god himself when he catches a glimpse of her. His eye is upon her even now!” Said one of the officials from Rhuctium. Bakku glanced nervously at the king. The king preened.

  “Do not let Hec hear you say such a thing or he will steal her away and sweep her up in his chariot like he did to Hari.” Said Tenan, grinning widely, his pride just as mighty as the king's.

  “I may have to brandish my golden sword against him if it comes to that!” Said the king lightly but when he rested his gaze upon Bakku it was bright and pointed, like a cat playing with a mouse before killing it.

  The king's heart was light, or so it seemed, but one never knew with King Khalit any longer. He was changed. More changeable than ever and more temperamental than usual All others were jubilant at the new wedding festivities but Bakku was in fear. He had downed nearly an entire vial of neru serum to keep calm. He had been humiliated before the entire court and his allies from Egi and the king's signet ring taken from him. Why the king kept him with him at this time he did not know nor could he guess what it portended.. He smoothed his silks and glanced at Taliat who seemed both present and far away, like a high, thin cloud on a sunny day. There was no comfort in gazing there nor was it wise to gaze at the queen for too long in the king's presence. He was too humiliated to look the chieftain in the eye and guessed that Tenan would leave him to his fate. A dead man had no allies. He concentrated on the crowds instead. He now dreaded the games more than ever. He did not know what game the king was playing but he knew he'd been caught out. He was on frantic alert, thinking carefully how he would weather this new storm, looking for any tiny opportunity to save face – and save his own skin.

  They reached the arena, floating under the bridge and to the steps where just up a few flights were the royal seats of the king, shaded by awnings and veils. He arrived at his box with his court and queen and surveyed the arena. All the nobles of the city were gathered in the tiers below his. They rose and bowed before him like a great crowd of noisy hens. He gave them the barest recognition. The arena was filled wall to wall with people. The great statues of Hec and his three wives by his side, his first wife the queen, standing in his chariot with him, the others on either side of the chariot. It made him think on his own first wife. He shook it from his mind. He should have made Diti come along but took pity on her because of her humiliation. Still, now that he thought on it, every gesture to the people was an opportunity to establish authority. She was still his wife. Next time he would not be lenient with her. But he had brought along his concubines in the other barges. He turned to a servant.

  “Have something to drink brought to all of the court.” Then the king stood up and the crowds began to settle and quiet. They were sitting in a special place where the king's voice could carry across the vast arena. He spoke.

  “You see the sun god before you and his sister-wives who all look upon us now. Let all those here praise him for he will welcome many people this day into his halls of glorious fire!” This drew cheers from the crowds.

  “You men! You fathers and sons! Rejoice for the games for when there is no war there is glory in the games when one meets death! You women rejoice for there is glory in the death of the menfolk who fight and die in them!” More cheers.

  “Let the games begin!” The sand was clean and fresh and the looming images of the sun god and his wives cleaned, white stone shined from their pedestals in the middle of the arena.

  “I trust a champion has been chosen for the Ainash?” He turned to his herald.

  “Yes, Your Greatness. I hear he is a strong warrior.”

  “Good. Perhaps we will get a thrilling fight before he dies.” He turned a wicked look upon Bakku and leaned in closer.

  “If this man wins, you shall keep your position. If not, I have a special pole being fired just for you to impale you upon. Pray for his victory, Bakku.” Whispered the king.

  There were sly, even pitying looks from the other courtiers and officials. Some looked faintly amused at his plight, others apprehensive. None came to his defense. Bakku swallowed, sweating heavily, managed a faint smile but said nothing. In truth, the king had not allowed him to go near the temple, keeping him away from any of his co-conspirators all that day and the day before. He prayed indeed, inwardly, fervently for the victory of this unknown champion. He looked up to see Lord Seht and his daughter both staring at him, their expressions fathomless.

  The south gate opened and two fighters entered, heavily armored, one carrying a sword, the other an ax. At the other end the north gate opened and two more entered, opponents. All four were volunteers from poor families looking for honor and glory and a chance for fame and wealth. Any who died, the dead themselves would be whisked to the fiery halls of the sun god to eat and drink and fight forever, their families would gain prominence, if not in money then with favors and status in the community and those who won would win money and more chances at games. But to fight and win or die at the king's wedding! They had all been promised great riches. They climbed the high steps to the platform stationed just below the great images of Hec and his wives, one team ascending the one side of the stair, the other fighters, the other side. They gave the obligatory bow to the opponents and took their stances. The king gave the signal for the fight to begin with his red silk and the fighters, driven on stimulants tore after each other like enraged beasts. It was a thrilling fight but did not last long. One fighter from the north gate had pinned the other fighter on the other team down after he had fumbled and dropped his sword, and took his head. He ascended the steps, raised the head and the crowds screamed and whistled. He threw the head down the steps. The body was then taken from the arena and another fighter entered to take his place. It went this way for some while and King Khalit and his court ate and drank. Rarely did he pay any attention to the fights as he had eyes only for food and his new bride. He noted with great pride that many other men also noticed her, casting their sideways glances, with envy. The queen herself basked in their gazes. Rarely did any one see a Strabian woman outside of Egi and for that alone she drew whispers and stares, besides her great beauty. Let them stare and choke themselves on envy. Khalit had plans they did not dream of. He would build a great dynasty and one day all his sons would rule half the world.

  “How is my lord the king? Is it not a wondrous day? So many souls would go to the halls of glory today.” She said, her voice was low and mellifluous like honey.

  “Souls who are loyal to the king in every way. I wonder that everyone in your court is so loyal, like the common people who go to death and glory without being asked. Yet, some who should set the supreme example in loyalty to the king have created so dangerous a commotion.” Said her father. He sipped on a goblet of
wine, his jeweled rings glinting in the sunlight.

  “What do you mean?” Asked Khalit.

  “I only mean that a wife of yours seems to hold sway here, though she is no longer queen. Will she sway them from my daughter? One wonders how she managed. I do not say this to offend you, Your Greatness, but it is a matter of serious concern to me. Why, at home a woman, especially a wife of such high stature is always attended closely.”

  “She is attended so.”

  “Like I have said, I wonder at some of your court. Why did they allow this to happen? If something else were to upset the Lady Diti, I mean no disrespect to her, I am sure she is a fine woman, but an angry, humiliated woman in one's house can be a dangerous creature. . . you must understand. I am only concerned for the welfare of my daughter and your future royal sons.”

  “We have nothing to fear from the Lady Diti, Lord Seht. It is the Ainash who have created this controversy.”

  “Yet, she seemed to have had full reign at court while you were away. I hear she used it to help the people, a noble deed, but things can change with two queens at court. Once a queen, can a woman truly accept being put aside?” Tenan said, giving the king a sidelong glance. He and Taliat had the same dark eyes with those strange lights in them. Tenan pointed and exclaimed in surprise as another head was raised in tribute to the king.

  “It would seem the people of the sand and salt appreciate their king and the glory he bestows upon them.” He said, smiling and stroking his long, braided beard. Khalit sat back, took a drink and looked from the father to the daughter.

  “I have said she will cause no more trouble and that is the end of it. Your point is made, Lord Seht. A wise point. Still, let us not speak of unpleasant things on such a day. That is for another day.” He hated Tenan and wondered when the old mummy would finally pass on from the world. If it takes too long, he may need some help. Khalit thought.

  “Surely, you are right, Your Greatness.” Said Tenan.

  “Glory and hope. What more can men ask for? That and a beautiful wife.” Said Khalit, turning to Taliat to gaze upon her again. She smiled with coral lips and milk white teeth.

  “A wife and queen that will give you many strong sons with the power of maned young lions and the glory of gods in them.” She said, her dark amber eyes flashing hints of light in the sun. This excited the king. Sons from her are the key, not only to securing my throne but she herself it is said descended from illustrious stock! Her father had said that their very line from the beginning was fathered by a demigod of the underworld. The “god” part is what concerned Khalit. Where he or she came from was of no concern to him. Greatness he would have, at any cost. He could just taste it and she was his key. Both father and daughter smiled at him with those same strange eyes of fire. Perhaps it was really true about their family line. He sat back and enjoyed the games, savoring a goblet of sweet red wine.

  As soon as Uwain had left, Amat prayed fervently to any god who would listen for a chance to survive this disaster. He did not know whether to hate her even more or continue to praise her for his predicament. Amat looked at the great wall and its rows of weapons. Axes, swords, scimitars, lances, spears, knives, scourges and whips of varying sizes and make; all well used and maintained. Amongst the practicing of tried and true fighters who had little fear in the arena there were the new people, those who could not pay, families and the elderly. Soft crying and whimpering could be heard amongst them. Amat felt a twinge of guilt, which immediately angered him. If he survived this day, those priests would pay for getting him into this. He pulled the vial of venom from its satchel and stepped out of the jailer's room. He glared at the crowds of fearful people in the cells around him. There were hundreds of them. He addressed them.

  “Listen to me! I have been given a command from the king! I must choose a man, a champion to go before you to fight for all of us! If this man wins, all of us will gain back our lives. Who will go for us? I will give you the chance to choose a few men amongst yourselves and out of those I shall choose the one.” Silence.

  “Is there no one willing to fight for their Ainash brethren?” He asked bitterly. “Or shall we all die today in the arena?”

  “Who said you will die?” Asked one man from the crowd.

  “The king has decided this. If the champion loses we all go to the lions. You, me and even my guards. But I have a way out for us all. It is this!” He lifted up the vial to show them. “Serpent's venom upon the blade will give any strong man willing to face the arena a powerful edge against any wild beast. It can fell a yaryebu!” The thick silence broke into furious whispering, then the loud hum of murmuring rose among the men.

  “Venom of the giki, is it?” Asked the man.

  “Yes.”

  “And how sharp are your weapons there?”

  “Are you volunteering?”

  “Perhaps. I have a request. There is no man among us, besides myself who can fight in the arena or has skill with a blade who does not have a wife and children. You have rounded up the aged and family men with wives and children and aged parents to care for. Except me.”

  “You are a warrior?”

  “I can wield an ax, a scimitar and a sword and I can ride a horse as well as any tribesman of the grassy steppes.”

  “What is your request?”

  “If I win this battle, I want to know who was behind this. I know this order to have the people thrown into the prisons did not come from the king.”

  “And how would you know? The king changes his mind as the wind changes direction.”

  “Come now, sir! We are all dead men! Do not play!”

  “It was your priesthood responsible for it.”

  “They are not my priesthood.”

  “Very well. I will grant you your request. Bring this man out!” A guard unlocked the gate and the man began speaking and saying to those gathered around him: “Courage men! We have not been given a choice in this. We can die as valiant men or as cowards and a coward has no honor. If I die, then face your deaths valiantly. Choose for yourselves what you will do if that time comes. As for me, I will die a valiant, mighty man in battle!”

  “May God give you even more mightiness!” Cried out an old man. He bowed to the old man. Then he strode out and stood before Amat. He was of average height but solid and sinewy strong, very muscular. He looked stout enough.

  “Win the challenge and kill the lions and I will give you the names of those that wrote up the execution order.” Amat said, lowering his voice.

  “Give me your word as oath.”

  “I am Amat Zerehet, son of Alat. You have my oath by Hec's golden chariot. I shall do it.”

  “Good.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Rhajit Ka' Mahaj. I am of the Karig.” Said the man. Amat stood taller now. He had not heard an oath or made an oath or named his family name in many years. It stirred something in him.

  “My father is from the land of Egi, a Strabian.” Amat led him to the wall of weapons. He suddenly saw them in a different light, as sacred things, the path to life or death to meet glory in the fires of Hec or to meet the elder brother instead, in the Black Fires. He shuddered. They now walked a thin line and it balanced on the venom being placed carefully on the weapon chosen and on the skill of this man.

  “You must choose two. Choose your weapons and I will anoint them with the venom. Do not let the weapon touch your skin. And may the gods be with you.”

  When Rhajit walked through the gate and entered the arena he could hear the deafening roar of the crowds baying for blood. He was numb to their wild cries. It was as if they were merely a haze of specters. The sudden presence of harsh sunlight nearly blinded him but he had the axes firmly in hand, feeling their tough, hide grips. He swung them as if they were extensions of his arms, ignoring the jeers and whistles. He refused to look in the direction of the king or anything else but kept his eye focused on the north gate. He was told two lions would come out from there. He had two axes, sharp as
the best sword blades and iced with venom. His father had taught him hunting and how to wield weapons. When he was ten he had killed a small desert lion and his brothers helped him skin it. He still wore the tunic, fifteen years later. If he died perhaps he would find himself resurrected in paradise to meet Airend-Ur and he would have questions for Him. Like why did He allow such things like these to happen to His people? Rhajit immediately pushed these thoughts away. There was no time to be angry with the gods now. There were lives to save, if he could manage it, his own the least of these. The immense statues were the second things he saw after coming from the dimness of the prisons. The whiteness of the stone was bright like fire. There were the three sister-wives of Hec; the queen, Hetar. She who judged whether one was worthy to go to the halls of fire, Helia, the second wife that healed and bounded up the dead to go to Hec or to the Black Fires, Hari the youngest who rode, like Hec, a golden chariot and took the souls counted worthy by her sisters in her chariot to the halls where Hec himself stood and judged finally for himself and allowed entry. At least that was what those who worshiped him believed. Then there were Hec's brothers, Heros, the forger and maker of all weapons and Hinurayu the singer of lays and songs of glory and battle. Then there was the unnamed one of the Black Fires. Rhajit worshiped no god and viewed it all as useless. It enraged him that any god would demand the innocent lives of men and women just to sit in some hall drinking and eating. Perhaps if he died he would go there and then he would have questions for Hec as well. He shook these thoughts away and steadied himself as the gates at the other end began to lift. It seemed to take forever. Rhajit's eyes began to adjust to the light and he shifted his attention to both his sight and his sense of smell. Finally, two lions strode out into the arena, one roaring and shaking his great mane. Rhajit suddenly felt his bowels turn and the knots turn over in his stomach. He had never had to face two predators before.

  “If there is a god in the heavens, be with me now. Help me save these people and myself, if you will do nothing else.” He drew a deep breath as the crowd grew quiet and he took his stance, the axes ready, heavy in his hands. The barest stains of the venom created odd waves of color patterns in the metal. The bolder lion came at a gallop. His mind extinguished all conscious thought and became a swirling red storm of instinct and emotion. He raced forward at the lion, his left arm over his chest to protect against a lunge attack against his throat. He did not have time for more than one or two blows and he was thankful for the fearfully sharp iron blades. He leaped up like the joyful rams at play he often saw in his childhood – the young men of the Karig tribes were known for jumping many feet high like the mountain red-horned rams. His arms flew up beside him like wings and he landed on his feet, painfully, right behind the beast. The lion, turned quick as lightening and reared up and pounced upon him as he drove the axes with all his might into the beast's underbelly. The lion roared as he dug the blades in but could not push any further. The lion had bitten into the side of his head but the venom worked its evil quickly. As it tried to break his neck, sinking its teeth into his skin, its body grew rigid. Rhajit screamed, in pain, in fear and exhilaration and rolled himself out from under the lion's weight. It roared again but this time in pain from the venom. It's eyes had the look of rage as it snarled at him. He hated to kill an animal for the amusement of lazy city people and such a majestic one at that. Somewhere, a pride of lionesses wondered where their king was. It's roars turned into wails. He felt his own hot blood streaming from the side of his head. The lion had ripped a gash in his scalp. In a rage against the crowd he thought to finish the beast quickly when in the corner of his eye he saw movement. It was the other lion moving in for the kill. Rhajit was bleeding, his body hurting from the mauling with the first lion and blood was in his eyes. His soul was emboldened again and he lept on his feet. The second lion, younger and smaller than the first came at him, fangs bared. It leaped forward and then instead of pouncing, swiped his chest with long claws, ripping his leather-hide armor and then jumping to the side and circling around again. They circled each other for what seemed like an eternity with the crowd in rapt attention. He paid no heed to anything or anyone outside of their deadly circle. He only heard his own heart beat in his ears and the snarls of the lion before him. Sweat poured off him like water. The axes handles felt damp in his hands. He felt himself tiring from the loss of blood. He kept his eyes on the beast and said a silent prayer to Airend-Ur. The sun was high across the sky, glittering like a bright white gemstone. So bright, in fact, that Rhajit saw his opportunity. The sunlight glinted off the polished metal of his axes. He turned them over. Suddenly the lion came in for the attack but stopped for a moment, as if to look for him, blinded by the fierce flash of sunlight. He would have only one chance. Like an attacking bird of prey Rhajit leaped in the air and swiped the lion's back with a hard blow from one of his axes. It roared in pain and rage and jumped at him but he was just out of reach. He landed on the ground on his back and the lion pounced upon him and held his arm fast in its teeth and would not let go. Rhajit had dropped one of the axes and shouted in agony and exhilaration but the other ax he used to slit a gash across the side of lion's head, opening a long cut and drawing blood, infecting it with the serpent venom. He nearly came close to cutting himself with it. The lion loosened its bite, ripping out a small chunk of his arm, staggered and rolled over. Rhajit then turned over, with great difficulty, crawled to pick up the other ax and he buried it deep, with all his might with his uninjured arm into the young lion's neck taking off the head in four powerful blows. His own strength, which was great, shocked him in that moment. The crowd screamed in elation. Then, with great difficulty, he took the head of the other lion. He was now trembling, ripped and bleeding and sweating profusely. It was over. He saw the king wave a white silk. He was the victor. Garlands were landing at his feet and there was the roar of fevered adoration from the people. But he had no love for them or the king. He felt the feral, animal-like instinct subsiding within, finally, and his capacity to think reappeared. And the only thing on his mind was revenge. Now he would have the names of the greedy cowards who caused this uproar. And he made a silent vow. If Amat did not keep his oath he would seek him out in a dark alley somewhere and take his head, shrink it and hang it from his belt.

  His eyesight became blurred and he soon saw the world turning dark.

  When he woke again, he was lying on a hard table, back in the arena dungeons.

  “Awake?” It was Amat. A physician was dressing his wounds. He felt heavy with drowsiness and a mighty soreness all over his body.

  “What is happening?” Rhajit mumbled.

  “You were kissed by the gods today and survived. Which is why you are here and not in the halls of Hec and why the rest are not in the Black Fires.” Something stung him greatly, an ointment that the physician was administering one of the nasty wounds on his arm. The pungency of the strong ointments flooded his nose.

  “Hold still!” The physician demanded. “Some of your wounds are showing the beginning signs of infection. You are not out of sight of death yet, my brave friend.”

  “You may have anything you request, Rhajit! The king has granted it! And when you step out of these dungeons, you will be a king!” Said Amat happily, sharpening a blade.

  “I do not care. I told you what I wanted. I also require something else. The livers, the kidneys and the hearts and the brains of the lions I killed. Get them for me, Amat. I will have them.” He mumbled through the pain relieving draught the physician had given him.

  “It is done. They are being slaughtered as we speak, meat for the poor in the crowds but you will certainly get all the things you request. They will be sent to the Victor's House. What do you need them for anyway? You want to know your fortune?” Fortunes! Rhajit groaned in disgust at this city man. Have they completely forgotten who they were?

  “No.” He said finally. “What I will do with them is my business. Just give me what you promised me.” The physician squeezed and wa
shed out the cleaning cloths and washed his other wounds, dressed them with more garlic ointment and wrapped them. Rhajit winced but remained silent.

  “You must stay in one place. You cannot go about any time soon until the infection resolves itself. It must heal, which means you must rest! Else this time you will find your soul wandering the gray between-way, with no one to guide you. No glory in that. Now, you feel no sharp pain because I gave you a sedative. Rest, I say for the king will require it. He is mighty impressed with your prowess young man and you have a bright future ahead, the gods willing. Your business, whatever it is, can wait.” Rhajit grunted stubbornly. The physician put away his instruments and ointments and left.

  “So, you want to know the names of the men who were behind this?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was two men, Ainash priests, Shishak and Teman. They gave the order to execute the people who could not pay the tax. They forged the execution document and made it look as if it came from the king.”

  “Shishak and Teman. Teman and Shishak. Good. I will remember.” Mumbled Rhajit. Amat narrowed his eyes, watching him intently, but said nothing. Rhajit wondered how Amat would even know this unless he also had something to do with it. And why would the king punish Amat along with the Ainash? But he did not question him further. Rhajit closed his eyes. He would kill them one day. It would not be easy to get to them but he would find a way. And then, perhaps he would come after Amat, the snake that sat before him. There was a sharp knock on the door, interrupting his dark thoughts.

  “A carriage has come for the champion! You are to be taken to the Victor's House!” Said one of the prison guards.

  “Let us all drink to his health, and our lives!” Shouted another one.

  “The Victor's House.” said Amat, laughing. “Lucky man! There you will train, relax and be oiled and massaged, be given the choicest foods and live in luxury, Rhajit! And the women who come there every night. . .” They came and took the reluctant victor and loaded him carefully into the palanquin. He was too weak to fight them off so he accepted the fanfare, silently plotting how he would get to Shishak and Teman. He was still undecided if Amat should join them in death. Rhajit thought that his head would still make a good decoration hanging from his belt.