by Pedro Urvi
She searched for some courage within herself, fearing she would not find any. She thought about Kyra, and a trace of courage came back into her heart. She swallowed hard. They had been separated, and this produced a corrosive anxiety in her chest which she could not shake off. She had no idea what might have happened to Kyra or Idana, or the others. She wished with all her heart that they might still be alive. She sighed. At least she was not alone. She took Gersa’s hand in hers and stroked it. They had been sent to the palace-fortress in the Second Ring that same morning.
They were being kept in the southern part of the great courtyard, the one furthest from the back doors of the palace, locked up inside a sphere-cell. They were being watched by six huge Guards in bright red and orange. Yosane’s eyes were caught by the great shield painted red, with its emblem in bright orange. It showed a volcano in eruption. She studied the nearest guard carefully. She was intrigued by these beings. What were they? Gods they were not, she could tell the difference clearly now. The Gods were slender and golden, and those guards, though they were tall, were not at all slender. Instead they were massive hulks. Also, though she could not see their faces under the elaborate helmets with the grim half-moons over their eyes, their skin was a toasted-ochre shade, not at all golden. And the thick black veins which ran across their bodies left no doubt.
What are you? Could you be men, like us? No, I don’t think so… and if you once were, what happened? Then she thought of the Executors and the Eyes-of-the-Gods. Yes, those guards and the others who carried whips must be some kind of creation of the Gods. Servants created with one purpose only: to serve them faithfully. Yosane tried to think it through, as she liked to do with things she did not understand.
But how do they reproduce? She wondered about this, and found it fascinating. She was overcome by a tremendous longing for knowledge about this strange, divine society. But a moment later she realized her own precarious and dangerous situation, and came back to reality.
What do they want from the two of us? Why do they keep us in here? she asked herself, anxiety growing in her breast. They were just two more poor slaves, so why such vigilance? Where could they go? Throughout the courtyard were innumerable slave girls who had been working there for hours, preparing long tables and padded benches covered in rich materials, protected from the sun by enormous canopies. They were setting out all kinds of delicacies: from exotic fruits to unknown culinary specialties whose irresistible smell reached her. Her stomach rumbled like a lion.
“Mine’s complaining too,” Gersa said. She rubbed her stomach. “What a lot of food! I’ve never seen so much in one place before, even when I was dreaming. Who’s it for?”
“I’ve no idea, but I can count more than a hundred cushions…”
Another large group of slaves was energetically cleaning the central part of the yard, and in the highest part numerous servants bustled to and for putting in place twenty or so large thrones, elaborately engraved, which would preside over the courtyard.
There are slaves everywhere. So why are they watching us in particular? Yosane did not understand, and it worried her, as did what she had found out about the Eternal City. While they were being taken to the palace, she had witnessed scenes she would never forget, for they had left their mark on her soul. All along the way hundreds of slaves in brown tunics and red headscarves worked incessantly on monumental works of stone and fire. The Enforcers whipped them mercilessly, their lashes echoing at every moment, creating a melody of suffering and death which was carried on a burning breeze. The monumental buildings which the slaves were putting up for their masters, the Gods, surpassed the dreams of the most eccentric builders.
If my father could see all this magnificent madness…
She could not help thinking about her beloved father, a builder by profession; he would be ecstatic at the sight of all that grand architecture… and the madness of those designs and buildings! The Gods had erected giant statues of warriors, gardens with fountains of lava and fire, palaces which seemed to burn in flames yet were not consumed, entire rivers of magma. A madness he would have marveled at. But luckily he was safe in the capital, and she thanked the heavens for that.
Suddenly there came a loud explosion of fire, and she started. Gersa hugged her tight and they comforted each other’s fear. Yosane tried to find where the explosion had come from. The search led to two huge wells in the center of the yard. From them came another explosion of fire which rose to the sky. Yosane covered her ears. A few moments later there came a rain of ashes and soot.
“What a horrible place!” Gersa whispered in horror.
“I know, but we must be strong,” said Yosane, trying not to catch her companion’s fear.
Gersa burst into tears. “I can’t, I can’t!”
Yosane thought about what Kyra would say to her to soothe her. “We must survive,” she said, “Think about surviving.”
“Survive? Here? Do you really want to survive here?” Gersa said between sobs.
Yosane thought about it. It would be easier to let herself be carried away by fear and opt for a quick death. The terror would come to an end… Gersa’s weeping made her think twice. No! Never! She had to put ideas like that out of her mind. She would go on. Survive and escape, that was what Kyra always said, and that was what she would do. Gently she put her hands on Gersa’s cheeks and looked into her eyes.
“We’ll survive and we’ll escape.”
Gersa looked back at her and shook her head.
“We’ll never get out of here alive. The only things in store for us in this nightmarish place are suffering and death.”
Suddenly all the slaves dropped to the floor and stayed there with their heads pressed against the hard surface and their arms stretched forward. The guards tensed and bent their heads until they were doubled up in a deep bow. Yosane caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and understood the reason: the Golden God in red, the one who had been at the strange ceremony where they had been separated, was coming out of the palace. Yosane watched him approach. He walked haughtily: raised chin, defiant look in his eyes, the movements and poise of someone who knew himself to be lord and master of everything around him. He wore a rich red tunic engraved in golden and a scaled cuirass in rich golden-orange which shone brightly in the early evening sun.
At the mere sight of his ruby eyes, Yosane shivered.
Behind the God walked a dozen more golden divinities. She could not get used to the golden slenderness of the Gods, which seemed to her both beautiful and unnatural. They came in pairs, God and Goddess, arms linked. She could not take her eyes off the Goddesses: they were so beautiful, their features as delicate as the breath of a summer breeze. The gold of their skin was much softer than that of the Gods, which made them look more ‘human’. All wore their hair very long and straight, most the color of honey, some even that of wheat in summer.
A dozen guards in a line escorted their masters on both sides. The God leading the group stopped. At once everybody else stopped as well. He looked up at the sky for a moment and frowned. He lifted a golden arm and snapped his fingers. Immediately twenty slave girls carrying large parasols came out running from a side building and placed themselves on both sides of the Gods to protect them from the sun. When the Gods arrived at the thrones they sat, reigning over the courtyard. The God who presided over the scene glanced in the direction of Yosane and Gersa. Yosane saw the cruel red eyes fixed on her. She felt so scared that she shrank inside the sphere-cell as if she were a baby alone in the middle of the night.
The God waved his arm, and the great doors which gave access to the yard opened.
Yosane’s heart sank to the floor. “By all… the seas…”
From the door in the wall more Gods in pairs began to walk in, elegantly and ostentatiously dressed, flaunting their slenderness and exotic beauty. They stopped briefly to salute the thrones and took seats on the dais prepared for them. Yosane watched them in astonishment. More than a hundred of them came in
. One hundred Golden Gods!
“Yosane…” said Gersa unsteadily, pointing towards the west.
Through the western door another fifty Gods were coming in, but these were enormous, armed with swords, shields and spears. Instead of colorful tunics they wore full combat armor in red, with capes hanging from their shoulders. They looked like blood-hosts sent to collect souls.
Yosane was speechless. She even forgot to breathe… and hugged her knees tightly.
The God presiding over the scene raised his hand, and three young servant girls ran to him. One carried a tray of grapes, the second a tray of dates and the third a decanter of wine. When she was about to pour the wine, she tripped. A drop flew from the decanter and fell on the God’s hand.
Eyes staring wide with rage, the God stood up. When he did so, the three servants rolled on the ground, hit by the wave of power. The God murmured something and stretched his arm to one side, with his hand open, towards a great brazier burning at one end. He drew back his arm, and as he did so the fire flew to his hand. The flames burnt in his palm as if they were his toys. He stared at the slaves on the floor and his eyes lit up. A macabre smile spread across his face. With a deliberate movement he threw the flames at the slave girls. The three of them began to burn, screaming desperately, in terrible agony. They died in a matter of moments, consumed by fire.
In utter horror Yosane shut her eyes and hugged Gersa. She could not believe the cruelty she had just seen. She knew perfectly well that the Gods were capricious and were merciless with their slaves, but this was inhuman, an act which was both barbaric and senseless. She understood in that moment that for the Golden they were no more than lesser beings, worthless, totally expendable, units of work or entertainment who could be discarded at any moment at the snap of a finger. The horror of it all kept her clinging to her companion, eyes closed, with no desire to return to the dreadful reality she was in.
When she finally opened her eyes there was no further trace of the incident, as if it had never happened. How sad… how horrible… The cruel God appeared to be chatting with the others. But no rumor of conversation, voice or word could be heard. Now she came to think about it, there was no sound at all in the yard or the thrones or the dais. Odd… why isn’t there any sound or any words? She put her head nearer the bars and tried to hear something of the conversation which must be taking place. Her curiosity overcame her fears.
Suddenly a shadow completely obscured the bars. She tried to see what had hidden the sun when she felt a hard mental blow. Something had entered her head. She blinked hard, stunned.
You won’t hear what they’re talking about, slave, because they aren’t voicing it, a deep voice said, not without a touch of gentleness.
Yosane drew back and held her head in her hands.
Don’t be afraid. Your life doesn’t interest me, it’s insignificant.
Fearfully, she dared to peek outside. In front of her she saw the huge God-Warrior she had seen at the strange ceremony, when they had been separated. His bulk obscured the sun. He wore a tunic of intense shades of red decorated with vibrant orange. The armor was a deep red, as if soaked in blood. It was made of strong pieces of metal. The cuirass with its shoulder plates bore the same emblem embroidered on the chest that the guards wore. The gauntlets and grieves looked solid and heavy, and a crimson cape hung from his enormous shoulders. Yosane stared at him, mouth agape.
The giant God-Warrior smiled. It was a kind smile, considering how imposing he was.
Do you know who he is, slave? he said in her mind, looking towards the thrones.
She shook her head, half-dead with fear.
He is Lord Asu, Heir Prince of the House of Aureb, of the Second Ring. Where you are. This is his kingdom, and everything here belongs to him. Alive or dead.
She managed to reason at last. How could this be? He was talking to her without moving his lips! But that was impossible! He was communicating from mind to mind. Sending his thoughts directly into her head. Amazing! Wonderful!
He is the most powerful Lord of the Five Houses.
Not knowing what to do, Yosane nodded nervously several times.
The God-Warrior stared at her intensely for a moment. If you do not wish to suffer, I advise you always to remain out of reach of his anger. Your lives are already short enough, slave. Do not fill them with suffering, for his wrath is disproportionate, and he knows no pity.
Yosane looked at him gratefully.
The God turned to leave.
“And you… are…?” Yosane asked him aloud.
The great warrior looked back at her slowly. He raised a thick eyebrow.
I am Iradu. Lord Asu’s Champion. Remember what I have told you. It will serve you well.
Iradu beckoned, and two young slaves came up to him. They were around twenty years old, tall and handsome. Their skin was very dark, which awoke all kinds of conjectures in Yosane’s mind. Those slaves were not of her race, nor her land.
We’re not the only ones… there are other races… other peoples. They’ve lied to us… for a thousand years. But why? What could be the reason? She shook her head and put her hand to her chest, her heart beating like a racing horse. How many more things are they hiding from us? How many lies have they taught us in our small world?
The two young men were dressed in brown, like all the slaves, but their tunics were of rich silk, not thick cloth. They were clean and perfumed, even the red headscarves they wore, which came down to their shoulders, were exquisitely made. They did not look like the other slaves… One of them carried a silver spear engraved in gold, the other a robust gauntlet, so beautiful it left her speechless. From the size of the gauntlet and the spear, she guessed they belonged to Iradu.
The God looked at the spear, then shook his head. He turned, unsheathed two short swords and went to the center of the yard with heavy strides, his hair in a long braid dangling at his back. He radiated tremendous strength, with his cape seeming to burn in flames as he moved. He was the living image of a war-god. Yosane felt sorry for whoever might confront this being.
Iradu stood in the center between the two wells of fire and saluted the other Gods with brief nods. There was a prolonged silence, which hung over the yard like heavy fog.
“What’s the matter, what do you think they’re doing?” Gersa asked. There were tears in her eyes.
“I think they must be talking to the God-Warrior, but they do it with their minds, so we can’t hear them.”
“Their minds? Have you gone crazy?”
Yosane explained to her what had just happened. While she was doing this eight guards walked into the courtyard armed with their massive shields and short spears and gathered around Iradu. They saluted him with a respectful nod, and the God-Warrior returned the salute. The guards took up their positions, ready to attack.
“Are they going to fight?” Yosane wondered out loud.
“Our lord Iradu will fight in the barbarian style with the Custodians, to entertain Lord Asu’s guests,” said the servant who was holding the God-Warrior’s spear.
Yosane turned to the young man and looked at him through the bars.
“Custodians?”
“The Custodians are the guardians of the Gods. Those imposing warriors you see. It appears you’re not familiar with the ranks of the Enforcers of the Gods. You surely know the Eyes-of-the-Gods and Executors. Then there are the Oppressors, who are the ones who carry the whips and are in charge of the slaves, and the Custodians, who protect the Gods.”
Yosane’s eyes grew wider. “Barbarian style?”
“They’ll fight with conventional weapons, without using the Power of the Gods.”
Yosane’s eyes opened wider still. At the same time her curiosity got the better of her.
“Who… who are you? How do you know this?”
“My name is Sulab, and this is Mulsa. We’re slaves, like you. But we had the good fortune to be chosen as Lord Iradu’s pages.”
Lord Asu stood up, took a step forward
and dropped a handkerchief on the floor with a melodramatic flourish, smiling sardonically as he did so.
At once the Custodians attacked. The fastest one attacked Iradu and tried to thrust a spear into him. The God deflected it with one of his swords and received the attack with a terrible kick, which sent the huge Custodian flying backwards like a straw dummy. As he carried through the same move, he threw the other on to the ground. A spear headed straight for Iradu’s face. The God, in complete control, shifted his head slightly so that the spear brushed his cheek without leaving a scratch. The attacker took the God’s sword in the neck, and blood soaked the silver blade.
Yosane cried out in horror. “It’s not an exhibition, it’s a real fight to the death!”
“Of course,” Sulab said. “A God never draws his weapon without shedding blood.”
But that was impossible. “Why would a God risk fighting his servants?”
“It’s a demonstration of courage and mastery with weapons in combat. Our Lord is the greatest of the divine warriors. He’s never been defeated,” the slave said admiringly.
“But that’s crazy!”
Iradu leapt to one side, blocked two spears with his swords, went down on one knee, then with two swift strokes sliced off the legs of two of his attackers, dodging their shields from below. A Custodian leapt on to him, shield first, intending to topple the God. Iradu dug in his feet, flexed his knees, moved his shoulder forward and put all his weight into it. The Custodian crashed into the God, and it was as if he had hit a granite wall. The Custodian fell to the ground senseless. Iradu decapitated him with a lightning stroke.
