by Pedro Urvi
My powerful Lord, I have been searching for more than eight hundred years, ever since I was a young apprentice, trying to unravel the mysteries of life and the Power, seeking to solve the greatest enigma ever posed. The voices tell me I am close: very close, they tell me. They whisper at night, they speak to me when I sleep, and their message is clear: the day is about to come, very little time remains. The voices tell me so, my powerful Lord.
You damn crazy Erudite, you and your voices!
I have been searching all my life… One day is no more than a tiny drop in the lake of time, so the voices tell me…
When you reneged of your own people and I opened the doors of my powerful House to you, it was on the understanding that you would achieve what I so long for. I do not readily offer my House’s protection; very few have been so honored. And not only have I provided you with my protection, I have also given you everything you have asked me for: from slaves to the greatest Power. Two centuries have gone by since that day, and still you have given me nothing but failures.
My Lord is wise. He expects a reward for his investment and patience, and that he shall have. For him I will obtain what the other Houses do not even dare to dream about. I have seen it in my dreams, and I know. The voices tell me. I have always known I would achieve it, and the day is already near. The voices no longer whisper; now they shout strongly.
Stop talking about the voices, you crazy old man! Let me remind you that I only have to mention to Adamis that his renegade scientist, his crazy erudite, is hiding under my Chamber of Knowledge, and he will demand your head on a silver platter. I will have no choice but to satisfy his demand so as to prevent a war between the Houses. Is that not so, Iradu?
The Champion nodded. That is so, my Lord. A war would not be advisable at the present time.
Moltus raised himself to his full height. Ah… that foolish Adamis, vain prince of Ether. He believes he is in possession of the absolute truth, and yet he is no more than a pretentious brat. Moltus rubbed his lame leg. I owe this to him, and I do not forget, the voices remind me every day, nor do I forget that he wanted to lock me up for life when he found out about my little experiments. No, I do not forget. One day he will pay… he will pay with suffering beyond anything he has ever dreamed of.
Forget that imbecile Adamis and concentrate on your experiments! Get me what I want, or I swear I will put an apple in your mouth and roast you alive over a slow fire like a piglet! Asu shouted in such a rage that when he clenched his fist, a flame enveloped it.
Moltus bowed immediately and remained with his head bent, fearing for his life.
There was a sepulchral silence, and a strong tension took hold of the place. The flame around Asu’s fist steadily grew in intensity, as if it represented the mounting wrath of its creator.
My Lord… your Power… Iradu warned, seeing his Lord was not growing any calmer.
By the Fire! Give me what I want! Asu thundered again, and the temperature in the room began to rise. After a moment it was a boiling pot.
My Lord, Iradu insisted.
Asu turned to his Champion, then stared at the flame, which was burning intensely blue. Yosane and Gersa fainted, suffocated in a sea of sweat, almost unable to breathe. Asu’s eyes were still fixed on the intense flame in his fist.
Every moment I keep this flame burning is a moment the Power robs from my life, even in the midst of this atmosphere of Fire ‒ he pointed to the torches and great braziers decorating the walls ‒ which lowers the consumption of the vital essence the Power requires. I can feel it scraping time from my existence.
He extinguished the flame and turned thoughtful.
The voices know it, said Moltus. The Power we have been blessed with comes with that price. It is a rule Mother Nature imposes on her children, and we are no exception. The Power cannot be unlimited, or Nature herself would perish. No, that is why when one of us uses the Power, he consumes part of his vital essence, because that is what it feeds on. Those who are not careful and measured in the use of the Power will age at an accelerated rate, like those poor slaves. He gestured towards Yosane and Gersa. Their race has neither the Power nor the capacity to live as many years as we do, but they have other virtues which we do not: they reproduce with amazing ease. The voices compare them to rabbits. The Power is dangerous, for it captures us, it makes us superior, it fools us into using it when we should not. And once all the vital essence of the body is consumed, Death awaits unequivocally, for all, slaves and Gods alike. Moltus waved his arms like a madman. The voices are always warning me: “Do not use your Power, for you can no longer pay the price, old man”.
I will not end like you, you decrepit old lunatic! That I assure you, you fool! Find me a way of using the Power without letting it consume me, and you shall live the days which remain to you like a king!
But you see, my Lord, that is the reason for my eternal search: to attain immortality and go on living, with or without the Power. Our wishes follow parallel destinies, and I will find both, since my life depends on it, in all senses. He giggled.
I do hope so… Asu said, his ruby eyes glaring. You asked me to bring you the Selected. Here they are. I need not remind you that their destiny has already been decided… there is one week to go before the full moon.
Of course, my Lord… I would not dare… a glorious destiny… the importance of the sacred ritual…
All right, go ahead. Asu withdrew a couple of steps.
Moltus clapped twice. My disciples, I need you, he said, and three Gods dressed in very much the same way came out of the shadows. These were young Gods, although their bodies were famished.
The old Erudite pointed at the manacled slave. Two of the disciples held her, but she was so terrified she did not struggle. Moltus went over to a round container in front of the monolith. It was tubular, with a silver body and doors sealed with a rune.
Power, he demanded.
The third of the disciples stood between the monolith and the container. He placed one hand on the monolith and the other on the metal object. When he closed his eyes, a flame of Power enveloped him. The monolith gave out a red flash, which ran up the arm of the scholar as far as his body, then into the container. This reacted to the Power and knowledge transmitted from the monolith and radiated a brilliant crimson light. The doors of the container opened and a cloud of smoke came out from inside.
The reactive, Moltus said. He reached out a wrinkled hand to take out a potion in a crystal bottle.
The young woman was forced to drink the dark potion.
While the Gods watched her, the slave began to convulse. They held her hard until the tremor subsided. Her eyes turned completely black as the irises disappeared and were replaced by blackness, as if she were possessed by an evil spirit. Moltus went closer to her and studied her carefully.
The voices say it is time to experiment, he said with a sinister giggle.
From his robe he took a disc, which he placed over his right hand. The object was slightly concave, the size of an orange and the thickness of two fingers. It was as black as the eyes of the unfortunate girl. On the upper side of the disc two silver circles shone in the light of the torches. Moltus put the disc on the slave’s forehead, and there was a metallic snap. The Erudite took his hand away, and the disc remained stuck to the girl’s face. It divided into two, and the upper part began to spin while the rune flashed at intervals. Black veins began to appear on the young slave’s face. After a few moments they turned a more intense black, as if the disc, in its spinning, were corrupting her blood so as to putrefy it. The girl became rigid, staring at the sky with her arms stretched backwards and her mouth open, rigid as a corpse. Moltus’ helpers withdrew their hands, and they all watched the macabre spectacle as the black veins spread from her face, down her neck and all along her body. In a few moments they took over the body and limbs. All the veins in her legs and arms were picked out in a gloomy black, as if some pestilent illness had invaded her.
The disc stopped spi
nning, and the girl fell to the floor.
Dead.
Moltus went over to her and removed the disc. He studied the two circles and shook his head.
Nothing, my Lord, he said sadly. Not one speck of vital essence has she yielded.
You damned fool! Asu roared. Are you sure the reactive is the right one?
I am indeed, my Lord. It is the most accomplished so far. I will show you. Moltus waved a hand and his helpers seized Yosane’s arms.
No, not her, Asu ordered. She is Orange. Use the other.
The scholars held Gersa, who was crying and screaming with terror. Yosane realized what was coming and lunged forwards to help her friend. She tugged hard at the arm of one of the Gods who were holding Gersa. A powerful arm took her by the waist and lifted her into the air.
Do not struggle, little slave, you can hurt yourself, Iradu told her, keeping her under his arm like a rag doll. The crazy Erudite knows what he is doing,
Gersa was made to drink the reactive. She went rigid.
Moltus pressed the disc to her forehead. The metal snap was heard again, and the disc began to spin. Gersa’s veins began to turn black.
“Noooooo!” Yosane yelled, and kicked Iradu to make him let her go.
But something else happened: the outer circle of the disc began to turn golden, and gave a flash.
Moltus smiled and clapped excitedly.
That’s enough, stop it, Lord Asu ordered them.
The Erudite withdrew the disc from Gersa’s forehead, and she fell to the ground. Yosane thought they must have killed her. But she started to breathe, haltingly.
In three days there will be no mark left on her, Moltus said.
You answer with your life, Lord Asu said to him menacingly. She must come to the ceremony intact. She is sacred. He jabbed the Erudite’s chest with a finger.
Moltus nodded and lowered his head.
Once more you have showed me your inability to give me what I want. These are the Selected. It was discovered long ago that essence of life could be extracted from them. But that does not interest me. There are barely a dozen of them each season, and there is nothing I can do with that.
They are a rare commodity, yes, very rare, Moltus said, rubbing his hands, and we only have two from this harvest.
Iradu looked down at Yosane under his arm.
It is they who guarantee the balance, through the equal distribution at the ritual. But if one of the Houses found the way to harvest more essence of life, or more Selected… then the balance would be broken.
War, yes, war, the voices say.
Asu raised his fist to the sky. I must find a durable source of essence of life, and in that way manage to regenerate the Power my body consumes. I want to give free rein to all the power within me without fearing the consequences, without being consumed, without aging and dying. A few Selected each season, destined to the sacred ritual of Vivification, are of little or no use to me. I cannot touch them, and even if I could, there are too few of them. I need to obtain vital essence from all slaves, you wretched senile fool! As he shouted, he gave a wave of his arm. It sent an explosion to flash against the wall.
Everybody froze silent, motionless, afraid of their lord’s wrath. Asu exhaled.
There are thousands of slaves, and they will beget thousands more. They are the key which will allow us to be able to use the Power without limit, without fear, without restrictions. Find me the way to obtain essence of life from the slaves to regenerate myself, and I shall be the most powerful of all the Lords. My House will be the most powerful, we shall be invincible. We shall break the cursed enforced balance between the Houses which I am currently obliged to respect. They will have to submit, to kneel at my feet, before my limitless power! Nothing and no one will resist me!
Silence took hold of the chamber once again.
Moltus stepped forward and bowed to his Lord. I will obtain it for you. I am very close now, so the voices tell me, and the voices are never wrong…
Asu glared at him with eyes of red-hot iron. The full moon is near. Make sure it is not the last one you enjoy.
Leave that one to me, my Lord, he said, pointing at Yosane. The voices tell me that from her we shall obtain the knowledge we need.
The ceremony… Iradu put in.
Leave no discernible marks, Lord Asu said.
Moltus laughed under his breath and rubbed his hands. They will not be visible, my Lord, I guarantee that.
Yosane had no idea what was going on, since she could not hear the conversation between the Gods, but the look of sadness on Iradu’s face when he left her on the platform warned her of the hell which would soon descend on her. A tear ran down her cheek when the door closed and she was left alone with the old man.
Protect me, Mother Oxatsi, protect me.
25
Night was falling when the Oppressors gave the order to stop in the form of five simultaneous cracks with their punishment whips. All the slaves stopped at once, letting their arms hang as if they were heavy maces, their bodies defeated by exhaustion and weakness. Liriana left the buckets of water on the ground and headed to the meeting point. All the slaves formed up behind their Foremen in lines of twenty men. An Oppressor went up to Tulmis.
“Count, Slave Foreman,” he ordered in his hissing voice.
Tulmis lowered his head in respect, turned to face his work crew and began to count aloud. One by one he counted all the members, while the Enforcer watched the scene without missing a detail. A little further forward, three other crews formed behind their Foremen as they made the count for the night. Liriana wished this last routine torture was over. She was exhausted, and saw that several of the men would not be able to stay on their feet for much longer.
“299,” he said as he came to the end of his count.
“One dead?” the Oppressor asked.
“Yes, one.”
“Show me.”
Tulmis pointed at Holstes’ corpse, covered with a ragged cloth, a poor peasant from the Third County. All the evil the poor man had done in life had been to grow wheat for the Gods and feed his family with the gleanings. The Oppressor went to Holstes and uncovered the body. He took his machete from his belt, then with a clean cut slit his throat. Liriana looked away from the cruel scene. The Enforcer put his weapon away and went back to Tulmis, who waited impassively for the order to leave, as he did every night. But that night something out of the ordinary happened.
Suddenly, and to everybody’s surprise, a tall, slender figure dressed in rich silks appeared on the lookout which rose above the work-site. Liriana was speechless at the sight of that being’s golden skin and the realization that it was neither a man nor an Enforcer; she was before a God. She looked at him, eyes wide, choking back a cry. After the God came two Eyes-of-the-Gods, taking notes of everything in their books, and behind them waited a dozen Custodians.
She stared at the God. He must be in charge of the construction; he seemed to her an almost mythological being. They had talked so much about rising against the Gods, of opposing their yoke, but it had always been against an abstract entity, since nobody had ever seen a God before. And there he was, in front of her, the one responsible for the enslavement and suffering not only of the Senoca but of other peoples and races, that slaver who forced them to work until they died. And then she felt that all the effort, the terrible risk she ran, was worth it after all.
“On the ground, slaves! Show the respect you owe!” came the order.
They all dropped down immediately and stayed there on their knees, their arms stretched forward and their foreheads on the ground.
“Not a single glance! Or it will mean death!”
Nobody even tried to blink, fear overpowered them. Not so Liriana. Although she was well aware of what was at stake, she risked a furtive glance.
So that’s what a bloody God looks like. So long imagining what they’d be like, and now I can see one with my own eyes. They exist, yes, and they’re golden, just as the legends tell. B
ut they’re something more than that, because even from down here I can feel his Power. Well, we’re no longer fighting against something formless, abstract, we’re fighting against a creature of flesh and bone. And now, no matter how powerful or different he might be from us, I’m sure he can be defeated.
The God looked at them for a moment, and she averted her eyes in fear of being discovered by that being’s power.
“Rise!”
She rose amid the clatter of a thousand men getting to their feet at the same time, and saw that the God had left.
“Leave!” the Oppressor ordered.
Tulmis lifted his arm and gave the signal. In an orderly manner, the first line left for the underground levels. The second followed immediately, then the rest. The same process was taking place with the other five crews. One thing she had to admit about the Gods, and particularly the Eyes: they were extremely well organized, efficient and precise.
She went into the Catacombs, which were what the slaves called the great underground cells where they were kept, and dropped down beside a fire. Presently they would be served a miserly portion of dirty soup and a piece of stale bread to feed themselves with. Every night she went to sleep with her stomach rumbling despairingly.
“The Foreman wants to see you,” one of the slaves said to her. He was an old man from the Fifth County who did not look as if he would last more than six months longer.
She went across to Tulmis, who nodded at her in greeting.
“You have news for me?” she asked uneasily.
He glanced around the room. “Sit down and lower your voice,” he said. “Our conversation isn’t for strangers’ ears.”
The young woman ran her fingers through her short hair and sat down beside the old Foreman. One of Tulmis’ helpers served them their portions, and they ate in silence. All around them the slaves ate, sitting on the ground on thin blankets, keeping their distance from their Foreman.
