Parallel Worlds- the Heroes Within

by L. J. Hachmeister

  “Welcome, honored foe. Take this: my vow of your safety, for all to see.”

  Madrubanna held out a dagger, its edges blunted and its point rounded. I tested it with a thumb; the blade would have struggled to cut an unbaked mud brick. I tucked it into my belt. "Gratitude. Fear of offense stays my voice. What do your people call you?”

  “King. King Madrubanna, lord of twelve clans of the Kascia. Eight, now, after your campaign against us.” A Kascian approached. Before us he drove a post into the ground with a weighty mallet. To this we tied our chariot teams. Afterward, the standard bearer took his place behind me. Madrubanna bid us to follow him.

  “Your messenger said you wished to discuss peace.” Gray-eyed Madrubanna led us to a table set up near the tents, within javelin distance of his assembled clansmen. “We have little to speak of. You are Esar, yes?”

  “I am.” I took the reed and whicker stool he indicated. A Kascian pair, man and woman, brought us fermented milk and bread, brick-hard and salted. I followed the king’s example of dipping bread into milk.

  I do not believe the fare will become popular here in Eridu, but I ate it out of politeness. “Why not? This war cannot go on forever.”

  “It need not. We fought to take your cities. Now we fight to tire you. Eventually you and your kinsmen will grow weary of war and return to your high-walled cities of brick and stone, and we shall take pasture land here on your frontier.”

  “We scatter you at every turn. You tore down the walls and temples of Yisuz. The Twelve Cities will not set bronze aside until the Kascians are gone, be it from our land, or to their ancestors.” I caught myself and drew up short. “It need not go so far. Your people can leave. Sue for peace, go back to your homeland. We do not thirst for blood.”

  “We cannot. Home is lost to us. We die going forward into your bronze, we die going backward to the icy steppes where once we rode. Better to gamble against your cities.” Madrubanna spoke plainly, eating and munching between words.

  “Then go east, take ship to sea. There are other lands. The Kascians are warriors, kings would pay to set your bronze against foes. Pay in land and in silver.”

  “We would not be slaves to some king behind his wall. Then what? Servitude? Whoring ourselves until our people are wasted in the wars of others?”

  Mudrabanna shook his hoary head. “No. We will fight here. If you beat us back, then we will run. To fight again, or to flee. No peace until this gamble is played to its end.”

  “Then fight, King, but send the people of this village away, lest our arrows fall on those without bronze. We Eridui have no desire to slay children, nor your valued elders.”

  Stormy-browed, Madrubanna stared at me. He took off his silver band and gave it to me. “My gift, for your mercy. A strange man you are, to save the son of a foe who might grow to hate the slayer of his father. That is the blood price—for the lives of children yet saved.”

  The king motioned to the hills. “Go. I will do as you say, but when we next meet, it will be as foes, honored or otherwise. I will add the silver buckle of your belt to my others, if the gods will it. If not, then you already have your loot from my corpse.”

  The stony face did not change, but I needed no second dismissal. I left the Kascian clan-king there, brooding in the wan light of morning.

  Eshua’s magi fired the tents as the sun rose. The village sat lifeless behind them, as a chest of silver emptied of its riches. The Kascian warriors streamed out as we came rolling down the hill. They met us with bronze, some without armor and none of them with their vaunted war horses, which remained corralled.

  This is war, for those among you who have not gone through it:

  It is loud. Bronze clashes on bronze just as the storm spirit splits the sky and roars its fury with earth shaking thunder. Men groan and scream, you feel the stamp of feet rattle in your breast as you march, line by line with your fellows, shields forming a sheet of bronze between you and hated foe. Noise weighs on you, clogging your ears and your heart.

  The enemy comes on to you, they shout their war cries, and then it is that crash of shield on shield. A man aims his spear for your heart. Your shield turns it aside, your own bitter bronze buries into his belly. His eyes darken, his soul departs, he falls at your feet. A friend collapses in the line, feathered arrow sunk in neck. He dies, blood gushing from wound and mouth.

  It goes on this way for ages, all choking dust and thrusting spears. Then it is done, all at once and without pomp. You see the backs of your foe. They break, crumbling. Arrows chase after them; some fall, but others reach their herd of horses, and they go like a storm’s wind, fleet and sudden.

  After, you are mired with blood and grime, caked with it—arms, feet, face. Armor, once polished and shimmering, is dull and tattered, shield’s face scarred and pitted. There are faces among your soldiers that you see no longer and cannot find. Later, someone will find them among the dead and, with luck, save them from the crows’ greedy beaks. As for the wounded foes moaning on the field? You go among the bodies, finishing them where they lay whenever you find them.

  No, I cannot remember how many men I slew. Three, perhaps four. We were not in the thick of the fight, but on its flank, driving inward from the left. By the time we pushed our way into their center, many of the Kascians were turning and fleeing. No, I did not see King Madrubanna, though he surely fought.

  Eshua gave us scant time to rest. Enough to wash our hands, wet our tongues, and dress our wounds. From the time of of the sun’s rising fully above the horizon til the time it sat at its zenith, and then we clasped armor, hefted shields, and began the march. My brother left a few men in the valley to count and bury our dead with proper funeral rites.

  Hear me, oracle: that march weighed heavier on me than did the battle. We trudged onward in the heat of the day, battered and aching. The hills gave way to stony detritus and hardy, straggling grass as we began a steady ascent into the mountains.

  In the welter of bloodshed, where do Iodonna’s virtues arise? Where compassion? Where humility, where wisdom and harmony with the natural order? There is no order when men bear bronze against men except that which we try to impose on it with commands and serried ranks.

  And yet, some men revel in it. They tire of feasting and drinking, of love and worship, but never of bloodshed, of glutting the tellurian spirits with gore. For all our disagreement, I at least know for a certainty that my brother cannot be counted among those men. And still, our argument tugged at me, dragged me into a gloom. I wondered if Eshua might be right and I wrong.

  Virtues cannot be found among bloodied bronze and ruined bodies. It can be found before and after, but not in battle. How then, to apply what the Sage taught us? If not Iodonna’s path, then what guides our steps? I can see no kinship between Iodonna’s teachings and war. The virtues are in harmony with our nature, but what aspect of man makes a farmer set aside plow for sword? It does not exist! War is a thing men are driven to by need, as an ox is driven to the butcher block with goads and whips, because it is frightened by the smell of blood. It goes no more willingly to slaughter than we.

  Whether or not one follows the Path, they cannot love war and yet be whole of heart. He may revel in the moment, find glory in defense of home and hearth, but none find joy in their own dead kin and still claim devotion to gods or spirits.

  Night fell and my heart was as lead in my heart. We camped in the rocky heights, crags and jutting stone all around us, the ground reaching upwards in a sweep that disappeared beyond our camp fires. I prayed to the Creator, I made oblations of sweet wine and burned herbs to the spirits, but if they heard my pleading, they gave no answer.

  Soon after I awoke, two soldiers, whom I did not recognize, joined me in my tent. They shouldered spears and shields and offered open hands to me in greeting.

  “Does my brother have need of me?” I asked.

  The look on their faces twisted, like a man with spirit-plagued bowels. “Honored servant of the king he is, Eshua wishe
s you to remain in your tent.”

  “Until when?”

  The other man spoke, low and quiet. “We know not, Esar.”

  “What reason has he given?”

  “He fears.” The man licked his lips, eyes shifting from me to my sword, which laid in its sheath on the ground beside my reed mat. “He fears you will do ill out of desire to do right. We would not bar your way, but by his command.”

  Only when the man spoke did I realize that anger had crept up from heart into throat, tightening the muscles in my shoulders and making the muscles bunch and bulge with tension. I unclenched my teeth and waved away the man’s unspoken apology. “We all must do as commanded. I cannot hold anger in heart at you for that. For Eshua, it is a different tale.”

  I sat down on my mat and held out a hand. “Go. One of you tell him I wish to speak to him. You have my sacred word that I will remain.”

  One of the men left. The other relaxed and let his shield hang from its strap, jabbing his spear’s butt-point into the hard ground.

  “Who captains you? And who leads my men?”

  “Your spears serve Eshua directly. I am under Lugal. He favors the bow, but many of us bear spears and shields for him.”

  “A worthy captain and honored kinsman.” I motioned to the wooden plank that served as my table and board, where a pitcher of water and a few bags of dried fruit rested. “Eat, if you wish. When I leave my tent, it will not be through you or that other man, but through my brother. We have no quarrel.”

  The spearman half-smiled. The left side of his face scarcely moved for the angry scar that gouged his cheek. “No, but my gratitude. We only know other captains by the word of their men. I’m glad that your men’s boasts are true. My fellow and I—we thought you would surely rage at us.”

  Inside I fumed! Indeed, I raged, a storm blackening the sky as it comes down from the mountaintops. I held in my fury and did not let the soldier see my lightning or hear my thunder. It was as I told him: he was not at fault for the orders given. The sun rose high in the sky before my brother came to my tent, girded in bronze. I rose from my mat so quickly that it startled both he and the spearmen.

  “You take your time in coming, brother. What cause do you have for all of this?”

  “I have your own cause, Esar. In battle, you lead as well as any, but you are too quick to set aside bronze and make a brother of your enemy when they still hold war in their heart.” He held out a hand to the flap of my tent. “You confuse the men, make them hesitate, and we cannot afford to stumble!”

  “If I make the men wonder, then you ought to, too.”

  “I do!” Eshua rarely raised his voice. His shout filled the tent, and his hands became grasping claws in frustration. “Every choice I make might lead us to doom. I can only do what will keep our city safe and our men alive. If those choices don’t accord with the Sage’s wisdom, then I must bend or else we all break!”

  My brother regained his calm and shook his head. “If I go astray, then it is up to you to lead me back—after we have settled the matter of the Kascians. No more talks, no more peace offerings. We scatter Madrubanna’s forces or we grind them into the dust, and we do so before next dawn’s coming.”

  “Stay here, Esar. I cannot let you trouble our campaign any longer.” Eshua turned and left the tent. I began to follow him when the two guards closed ranks and barred my way. Even though I had given them my word, I still saw worry on their faces, and so I did not try to push through them. I was angry with my brother, but I knew his heart—being a leader of men, making decisions that lead to the life and death of others is a strain on any man. I argued with him not to make the burden heavier, but to lighten it.

  Time passed slowly, only marked by the sound of moving men and the arc of the sun as its spirit drove the burning disc through the sky. When my tent flap next opened, Lugal strode into my tent. His spearmen offered terse salutes.

  “Leave us. I wish to speak with my kinsman alone.”

  “Captain, Eshua speaks with the will of the king, and he ordered us to remain.”

  “I know who my cousin is and what he does. He serves the king. I serve Eshua. You serve me. Is that not so?” He slapped the flap of the tent. “Go. Wait outside. If any ask, tell them you do so at my will.”

  When the guards left, Lugal turned to me. “You’ve been absent from the assemblies more often than usual, cousin. Your brother says you won’t be in the coming battle.”

  “By his decision, not mine.”

  Lugal paused a moment, hand resting on sword hilt. “Nor mine. Cousin, I have seen the Kascian camp. They are few, and few among them are warriors. Perhaps a few hundred, all told. We have bickered on the matter before, and I have not always agreed with you, but this time—this time you have the truth of it.”

  “What did you see?”

  “The Kascians, camped in a shallow basin at the end of a ravine. The ravine opens up and bottoms out, shallow nearer the ravine and steeper as it does. They cannot hope to escape us before tomorrow by scaling the cliff face that they camp beside. Not in a single night.”

  Lugal used his hands to map out the basin. Hard granite, bowling outward before sweeping upwards mercilessly, nearly a natural wall, save for the random outcroppings and jagged cuts of the stone where it is cloven by time and age.

  “Esar, the Kascians are camping in a grave of their own making. If we march to battle, I am afraid that we will bury all of them. A few arrows into a village is one matter, trampling the old and the young beneath our feet another. I cannot do it.”

  “Speak to Eshua. You and the other captains can sway him.”

  “We cannot. We are divided, and it would take all of the captains standing united to bar his path. He is still our leader, as we are the leaders of our men. Where he goes, we follow. It is your privilege as blood to speak out against him, but even that has its limits.”

  Lugal strode over to me and took my hand in his. “Cousin, if given opportunity—could you do something?”

  I squeezed his forearm. “There might be something I can do, if given my freedom.”

  My cousin laughed and nodded, as much to himself as to me. “Your brother may whip me but perhaps the Creator will be look kindly on me for this.”

  He stepped past me and over my reed mat and drew out his knife. Placing a hand on the tent to tauten the linen, he stabbed his knife into the fabric and slashed a rent down it. He turned to me and motioned to the tear. “Go. I’ll remain for a time.”

  I embraced Lugal. “Sage’s blessings on your house and heart, cousin.”

  The tear came up to my chest, but I ducked and slid through as a fish darts through the river reeds.

  I made my way through the camp to where the magi stayed. They camped among themselves, for the sake of the men—the loud noises and unnatural smells accompanying thaumaturgy can unsettle horse and man alike, if unused to them. Even I, growing up in the company of many magi, find some of the arcana to be strange and fearsome.

  Everywhere, men readied themselves for war. It was no different among the magi tents, so few paid me any heed when I slipped into Namhu’s tent. He sat among his esoteric tinctures and crystals, a bowl of barley porridge still steaming before him.

  “Esar. Your brother said you were to remain in your tent.”

  “That is so. He doesn’t know I’m here.”

  Namhu frowned. “That reeks of ill omen.”

  “Not as ill an omen as what my brother intends.” I told him what Lugal told me and the frown on his face grew, his brows furrowing, his features growing stormier by the moment.

  “Eshua is a good man. He will see sense when we approach, surely,” Namhu said.

  “I think him the best among men, but I see the burden he bears as our leader. I fear it drives him to act in haste. Namhu, lend me your wand.” I held out my hand to him, and that made the magus hesitate.

  I see him now in the crowd of listeners. I know that he told the oracle he gave me the wand after some discussion
. I would tell you otherwise—that I struck him, threatened him, and took the wand from him, to save him from being brushed with the tar of my own deeds. He is too good a friend, though, and the oracle would see through my lies.

  I cajoled him into giving me the wand. Though the act went against his better judgment, I believe it accorded well with his heart, for he works to follow the Sage’s Path as we all do, and he knew what sins waited for us at the far end of that gorge.

  He sighed and drew the wand, putting it in my hand. “What you do is folly. Don’t let it be fatal, too.”

  I left his tent in haste and made my way to the corral. I found my chariot and its team. Swiftly, I hitched horses to chariot and leapt in. We plunged out into the camp, throwing men into disarray. Shouts followed in my wake, curses of anger or surprise left behind me. As I drew near Eshua’s tent, his voice joined the outcries. He ran out towards me, arms waving desperately.

  His orders to stop and his upthrown arms did little to slow my chariot as we ran out of the camp, startling the guards on post. I was sure that my brother intended to have men give chase, but my team was swift and I had the advantage in distance already. My chariot bounced and rattled hard on the stone as we rode, jostling me as I held tight to the reins.

  A long, towering-walled gorge led into the basin where the Kascians camped. The gorge was the only way through that our scouts found: trying to go over the steeper slopes and sweeps would have taken days, and there was no guarantee of reaching the basin that way. Nor could we hope to bring horse or chariot over such terrain, it would have maimed steeds and snapped chariot axles with the effort.

  That made my task easier, though I scarcely grasped my own intent.

  I halted deep into the winding gorge and turned my team about. I cracked the whip and shouted until the horses raced back towards the camp, chariot jouncing and wobbling wildly behind them. What I planned would have scared a horse too much for the animal to be useful, and I saw no point in endangering them.