by Pedro Urvi
The big man laughed heartily. “Even if I believed you, that horse you’re riding is worth more than the life of all of us, including yours. On the black market they’d pay a lot for it and for your equipment too… You have to understand, I can’t let you leave. Nothing personal.”
Ikai took a deep breath.
“Kill him!” the leader cried at the top of his voice.
Unfortunately Ikai had already anticipated a reply like that. It was the most logical one. He let fly an arrow the instant the order came to an end. He caught the nearest outlaw right in the chest, the little man with the mocking look. The arrow sank into his flesh with a dull sound. The Pariah looked down at his torso, his face a show of incredulity. He took a step to one side and fell to the ground dead.
Ikai’s mind weighed up the next threat. The tallest outlaw was coming at him at a run on his left and the bald, daring one on the right. Ikai calculated the time he had left, and acted. He shot the tall man who was coming swiftly at him, sword in hand. The arrow pierced his right eye, killing him instantly. His sword fell and his body slumped.
A cry of rage reached him from his right. He had no time to nock his bow again. He dropped it. The outlaw’s sword glinted in the night, searching for his side. Ikai let his body fall on the other side of his horse. He got off an instant before being struck. He put his hands out and rolled into the fall, unable to prevent a groan of pain as his injured side was twisted.
“Come here, you damned Hunter!” the man cried in frustration.
Ikai got to his feet and put his hand behind him. The outlaw, eyes filled with hate, attacked at a run. He was met by a whiplash blow from Ikai’s arm. The small throwing dagger whistled past and sank to its hilt in the man’s neck. The Pariah reached Ikai without even realizing he was already dead. He struck with his sword, but Ikai moved aside with ease and avoided the blow. The outlaw tried to breathe, but could not. He fell to the ground with his hands at his throat, drowning in his own blood.
“You bastard!” the leader thundered. “I’ll send you to see those disgusting Gods you serve!”
The giant launched into a run. Ikai waited. He took a deep breath to keep calm, unsheathed his sword and breathed out. The outlaw reached him and struck with such force that he would have cloven the shield and arm of even the best-prepared warrior. But Ikai did not block the blow; he had already foreseen the brutish man’s enormous strength. He stepped aside skillfully, and the sword hissed as it cut the air a hand-span away from his neck. With calculated coolness Ikai launched a vertical stroke which took the outlaw in the arm. Blood began to flow from the cut.
He gave Ikai a glare of pure hatred. “It won’t be some dirty Hunter, a cursed servant of those Gods who kills me!”
Filled with fury, he hit out again with all the strength of his huge shoulders, as if he were going to fell a tree with a single blow. Ikai waited coolly till the last moment and leapt like a cat to avoid the sword, which grazed his stomach. He countered and gave the outlaw a second deep cut in the leg.
The giant cursed at the top of his voice, clutching his wounded leg. “I’ve got nothing to lose!” he said furiously. “I’m a Pariah and I know it. There’s no future for me. I chose to escape rather than be sent to the quarries, that’s my sin.”
“That was your own choice, just as it was your choice to confront me when you could have chosen otherwise.”
“What rights do those tyrannical, ruthless Gods have to decide my destiny, or any man’s? Who gives them the right to establish the Quotas? Why must I work in the quarry for them? They’ve got no right. I don’t have to obey them. I don’t!”
“You don’t discuss the law of the Gods, you carry it out,” Ikai replied as he had been trained to.
With eyes aware of the end which was awaiting him, the giant raised his sword with both hands for a final blow. Ikai looked at him straight in the eye and shook his head. He did not wish to kill him. The Pariah returned the glance, deep and honest, an echo of the man he had once been and would never be again.
“I won’t let you turn me in so that the Eyes-of-the-Gods can torture me to death in front of the people as a public example. No, I’d rather die here.”
The sword came down toward Ikai’s head. The Hunter raised his own quickly and parried the giant’s blow. His steel went straight through the outlaw’s heart. The giant fell to his knees. When his eyes turned to Ikai, they were moist.
“It wasn’t me, it was the Gods…”
Ikai felt sorry for the man, for one moment. Then he saw the dead bodies of the innocent men.
“The Gods were cruel with you, true, but you chose this path.”
The giant fell back, dead.
Ikai went across to the old man and cut the ties that bound him to the tree. The old man collapsed into his arms. With the utmost care Ikai laid him on the ground.
“Thank you… thank you, Hunter…” he stammered.
His face was purple and both eyes were swollen; one of them he could not even open. He was bleeding from nose and mouth, but the worst was his torso. He had been tortured with ugly cuts which would become infected if they were not stitched, and he would either die from that or else bleed to death slowly. Thinking about it, Ikai found it hard to believe that the man had survived such harsh treatment at his age.
“You are a tough old man…” Ikai said as he checked his wounds.
“I have… I have a lot to live for…”
Ikai looked at him in puzzlement. He must be in his seventies… His face was like parchment, his hair and beard as white as snow, and under his torn tunic he was no more than skin and bone. A lot to live for? He should have been dead already, since very few reached that sort of age. The harshness of life, or the Gods, finished them off much earlier. Very few reached fifty. But something caught Ikai’s attention. The man’s one open eye, an intense blue, gleamed with intelligence. For a moment he seemed to glimpse the old man studying him, bringing some unknown wisdom to bear.
“This is going to hurt…”
The old man nodded at Ikai, closing his eyes.
Ikai placed his fingers over the old man’s nose and with a dry snap put it back in place.
The old man cried out in pain. After a moment of intense agony, he threw his head back.
“Very good. I’m going to get a curved needle and some thread I have in my bag. We’d better close those ugly cuts.”
“Thank you… Hunter… this old man will be able to fight one more day…”
Ikai looked at him again. His clothes were of good quality and his hair and beard were well trimmed. There was no dirt under his nails. He looked at the man’s Golden Ring and saw the symbol of the Horse; he was a Merchant, and judging by his attire a prosperous one…
“You’re a strange one, old man.”
“My name is… Gedrel, I’m a Merchant… to the Gods…”
“To the Gods?”
“Yes… to men… I’m something… very different…”
Ikai looked at him, not understanding. One could not be something else. The Gods allowed a single trade, that of your family or the one they gave you. It could only be changed at the requirement of the Gods and their dreaded Quotas. But even so, one went on to have a new trade assigned by the Eyes-of-the-Gods and controlled by the Proxies. No one could be more than one thing. The Gods forbade anything else. One man, one profession, one job, that was the law. Anyone who did not do his job or could not work was condemned to death. A man who did not produce had no value in the eyes of the Gods.
“We can only be one thing, the law says so.”
“The law of the Gods… not that of men, young Hunter…”
“Ikai, my name is Ikai, and you shouldn’t talk like that, you’re courting death.”
The old man smiled. “You think so?”
Ikai shook his head. “I’d better tend to your wounds, Gedrel. I’m afraid you’re rambling.”
“An… unexpected… pleasure… Ikai…”
“It was chance. I h
eard the screams.”
“Maybe… maybe not…” he said, his face contorted with pain.
Ikai shrugged and went for his things. This old man was certainly odd. He worked on the wounds skillfully and as gently as he could. It was not the first time he had had to sew someone’s wounds. Being a Hunter entailed certain risks. He thought about his dead comrades and wished they could be in some better place, where men did not live to serve the wishes of Gods. He was annoyed by the thought. He should not think like that, it was more like something Kyra would think; he had a better head on his shoulders. Things were what they were, and that kind of thought only drove a man to the grave.
Gedrel lost consciousness. Ikai applied the disinfectant moss to the wounds and finished the treatment. He remained looking at the old man’s kind face. His breathing was weak, almost imperceptible: he might never open his eyes again… But at least he was resting without pain and the mask of agony had left his face. The moon rode high and beautiful in a clear starry sky, and a glint on his Ring made him think about the old man’s strange words.
Ikai remembered clearly the fateful day when his Golden Ring had been imposed on him. He was seven. Until that day he had enjoyed a freedom he would never experience again. He had been happy, he had been allowed to play with Kyra on the farm, with other children in the village, without duties, without servitude. And he had savored that short freedom, enjoying every unworried day, unaware that it would be so brief. The moment came for the Gods to claim their divine right, and Ikai was presented at the Ritual of Trades. He remembered the square filled with people and the black smoke of the torches rising towards the full moon. He advanced toward the platform, holding on to his father’s hand. Siul bent over to look into his eyes. Ikai remembered his father’s eyes, because they were identical to his own.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said with a wink, his face kind and loving.
“I’m not, Father.” Ikai was not afraid, not with him.
“That’s my boy. Never let fear get the better of you, use it and fight back.”
Ikai pondered those words and nodded. Behind came his mother and Kyra. His sister’s nose was dirty, and she was looking sullenly at the crowd.
Solma came up to Ikai. “Do as you are told, don’t complain and don’t say anything.” The gravity in his mother’s voice made him pay attention to her. He nodded twice. Suddenly a white flash, followed by a deafening buzzing, burst out in the square. Ikai was momentarily dazzled. He protected his eyes with his arm. The buzzing became so intense that his ears hurt. He opened his mouth and moved his jaw, trying to ease them. He looked around searching for the origin of that unpleasant sound. It came from the Rings. They were all emitting a buzzing which seemed to be growing in intensity, as if they were intended to torture the mind. He looked at his parents’ faces; their eyes were half-closed, their faces were bleak and their shoulders sagged. They too were suffering under the terrible sound.
Kyra shook her head in protest. “Stop it, my ears hurt!”
“Be quiet, children, cover your ears with your hands, it’ll soon be over,” their father assured them.
Ikai and Kyra did so, and after a short while the buzzing stopped.
“It’s time,” Solma said, and they walked to the eastern side of the square, following the crowd.
Then Ikai understood where they were going: to the Temple of the Golden Gods. The imposing building presided over the square with its arcane air. It was spherical in shape, and completely golden. On its façade strange runes had been carved. Only the Eyes-of-the-Gods knew their meaning and function. It was a forbidden building, which only the Enforcers of the Gods could have access to. In each of the six counties was a similar temple whose function was to house the Eyes and host the ceremonies the Gods required of their enslaved people.
The blinding flash came again and Ikai covered his ears. The insufferable buzzing echoed anew. All approached the temple entrance. The great round doors remained sealed. In front of them an altar had been erected between two great braziers which lit up the night. They walked toward the summoning. From the western part of the square he saw Proxy Kulban appear at a stately walk, looking solemn. Beside him came a Priest. Kulban wore a rich dress robe of intense blue, and the Priest the same in deep purple. They were followed by a dozen of the Proxy’s armed guards. They took up their positions before the doors of the temple and knelt down.
All those present knelt down as well, their faces sad, their shoulders sagging. The doors opened. From the shadows appeared an Eye-of-the-God, followed by his Executors. The crowd fell silent at once. For the third time the flash coming from the Rings filled the night and the infernal buzzing returned to torture their ears. And the ceremony began. When the buzzing stopped, the Proxy and the Priest stood up and faced the kneeling crowd. Behind them, expectantly, stood the sinister Eye, with his henchmen of death. Proxy Kulban turned to the people.
“The first night of the Full Moon of Spring is the night of the year chosen by our Gods for the Ritual of Trades. Every year, at midnight, all those families with members of the age denoted who have no occupation must come to the capital of the county and the Golden Temple. This is the law of the Gods and thus must be obeyed.”
The crowd listened without a sound. Ikai glanced at his mother, and her face seemed to be filled with sadness. He watched his father, who was looking stern and biting his lip. In his eyes he thought he saw… rage…
“To ensure the divine law is fulfilled, I as Proxy, here tonight bear witness,” Kulban went on. The Priest took a step forward and prayed to the Golden Gods, thanking them for their greatness, benevolence and mercy. To Ikai it seemed that he heard a muffled murmur of disapproval.
“The children who are now seven years of age must now be presented by their families to be Ringed,” he said.
When Ikai heard this, he finally realized what it was all about. He looked up at his father, who nodded in somber resignation. Ikai understood.
“Come forward, present your young ones in order that the Gods may accept them and assign them a job in their service,” the Priest said, and went on with his harangue. He thanked the Gods for their mercy and benevolence, showing them the submission of the people, praying for a year of good harvests, with neither plagues or illnesses for the people who faithfully served their masters.
Ikai, led by his father, walked up to the altar between the two great braziers. The Eye stood behind the altar. His helmet gave a metallic sound, and the two triangular silver halves parted to reveal an enormous golden Eye on a deep black background. The iris was made up of thousands of tiny flecks of ochre and gold, and the pupil was sky-blue. The Eye looked at Ikai with that irrationally large orb, which seemed to read his soul, and his blood froze. In that moment he felt fear, a fear that behind that divine eye there was no humanity. His father put his hand on his shoulder, and Ikai grew calmer. Four huge Executors came to stand beside them. The Eye pointed to the altar. He carried a golden volume in his left hand and a strange silver gauntlet, with incrustations and golden runes, on his right. It was massive, metallic and rectangular in shape, and appeared very heavy and sturdy.
Two of the Executors held Ikai’s arms. The boy looked at his father, who glanced at the two other Executors who had come to stand beside him. They were armed with spears and were huge, with wide shoulders, more than a head taller than Siul. Ikai who had always seen his father as the strongest man in the world, realized at that moment that this was not the case. His father sighed and nodded. Ikai felt nervous. He did not know what was happening, but he was scared. The Executors laid him down on the altar. As they did so, Ikai noticed that the surface was hollow, with the shape of a boy carved inside it. He was dipped in some thick substance, with the exception of his arms which were supported higher up and remained visible. The two Executors held him, one to each arm, and Ikai’s heart began to pound.
“Name?” Proxy Kulban asked.
“Ikai,” replied his father.
“Family occupation?
”
“Farmer.”
The Proxy looked at the Eye. The sinister servant of the Gods noted something down in his book and nodded.
“Farmer is your Trade, and farmer will be the Trade of your son, by family,” Kulban pronounced.
The Eye-of-the-God left the volume on the altar. He picked up a completely smooth, polished black ring. It looked as if it had been forged from a piece of night itself. The Eye bent over Ikai and placed the ring on his left wrist. He closed the silver gauntlet over it and intoned a droning, jarring chant. A bright golden flash came out of the thick metallic glove, and Ikai felt a burning heat on his arm. The flash lasted a brief moment and the heat turned to fire. Ikai closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, trying to bear the suffering with dignity. But the pain grew stronger. He began to scream, but one of the Executors stuffed a cloth in his mouth, muffling the sound. Ikai tried to kick. The pain was insufferable, but it was impossible to free himself because of the two Executors who held him firmly against the altar with the strength of ten men.
His father made a move to go to his aid, but powerful arms held his shoulders. In an instant the tip of the Executor’s spear was at his throat. Ikai thought the pain would amputate his arm, but a moment later it disappeared completely. The pressure of the Executors on his body disappeared too. He opened his eyes and saw the Eye had taken a step back, as had the Executors. He looked at his left wrist and saw the four-finger-wide Ring, now golden, and in its center an Ox, the symbol of the farmers. Under the ring the flesh of his wrist, forearm and hand was blackened, like a branch charred by fire.
“Ikai, through the Ritual of Trades, you are now a Farmer for the rest of your days,” Proxy Kulban proclaimed. The Priest began to give thanks to the Gods with his arms outstretched towards the temple.
“Come, son,” Siul said.
Ikai leapt from the altar as if he had been lying on a bed of nettles. His father took him away while the next unfortunate, Gilma, the Baker’s son, approached the altar with his father to undergo the same ritual.
