When the Gods Slept

by Allan Cole

  "Safar," a voice said. It was gentle and as soothing as that milk. "Safar," it said again.

  He floated out of the blackness to find a lovely face peering down at him. Dark, almond-shaped eyes full of sweet concern. Long black hair tumbling down like a silken scarf. Lips red and ripe, smoothed into a smile displaying teeth as white as the Snow Moon.

  "Who are you?" he mumbled, weak.

  The smile became sweeter still. "I’m Astarias," she said.

  "Do I know you?" he asked.

  She laughed. It sounded like distant music. "You do, now," she said. "I’m the girl whose life you saved."

  "Then you’re not my sister," he said.

  More laugher. Puzzled laughter. "No, I’m not your sister. I’m Astarias."

  "Well, thank the gods for that," he said.

  And he slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep.

  * * *

  Chapter Six

  The Covenant

  When the caravan rolled into Kyrania Safar learned what it was like to be a hero.

  He and Iraj rode in the lead with Coralean, mounted on the caravan master’s finest horses. They were high-stepping steeds with painted shells and beads woven into their manes and tails. Behind them, guarded by the surviving soldiers was the caravan itself, bells jouncing, colorful banners waving. The air was pungent with the odor of precious goods from faraway places. A boy ran in front carrying a demon’s head mounted on a stake. The creature’s yellow eyes were open and staring, snout gaping to display many rows of bloody teeth.

  Safar felt like a participant in a strange, barbaric dream. The battle seemed distant, unreal. Yet there was the gory head bobbing in his view. His memories of the fight were vague, adding to the dreamlike quality. He felt as if it were not him but another who had cast the great spell that brought the avalanche down. There was no sign of the power he recalled coursing through his body. That morning, before the caravan set out, Safar had quietly attempted to tap some of that power. But it was either denied him, or, he’d thought, perhaps it had never existed at all. Maybe the avalanche had been a coincidence. Perhaps it was an accident of nature that killed the demons and not Safar Timura.

  They rounded the last bend and excitement rushed in and all introspection vanished. Safar saw one of the Ubekian brothers posted at the old stone arch marking the village entrance. With much satisfaction he saw the bully’s eyes widen in fear when he spotted the demon’s head. Then he whirled and sprinted out of sight, crying the news of the caravan’s arrival.

  Iraj cantered close to Safar, face beaming with pride and he pointed to the gay ribbons festooning all the trees that lined the road. He started to speak but then the sound of glad music caterwauled from up ahead.

  Coralean’s smile was a bow of pleasure in his beard. "It is good," he boomed, "that your friends and family are giving you a proper reception. A true welcome for young heroes."

  In the two days since the battle the people in the caravan had tended their wounded, repaired the damage and had bathed and wrapped their dead in white linen sheets. The bodies were loaded into a wagon for later funeral ceremonies. While Safar slept off the effects of the battle, Coralean had sent word to Kyrania, assuring everyone their young men were safe and unharmed. Iraj had been clear-headed enough to tell Coralean of the herd left in the mountain meadow and the messenger had carried that news with him as well so a boy could be sent to fetch the goats and llama.

  When Safar had finally awakened there was no sign of Astarias. Iraj reported she’d been returned to the wagon with the other women. Safar had pined for her, although he’d been shocked when Coralean had informed him the women were being taken to the brothels of Walaria where they’d be sold.

  "If it were not for you and your brave friend," he’d told Safar, "Coralean’s wives would not only have lost their loving husband, but would have been impoverished as well - without even the price of a bowl of barley and rice to stave off starvation. As for the fair Astarias, she and her sisters in seduction squabbled so heatedly over who would care for you they gave poor Coralean a headache that could only be treated with a large jar of brandy."

  He’d rubbed sore temples, groaning. "But the cure, as always, has afflicted your humble servant anew. I fear Coralean must apply yet more brandy to treat this malady." Then he’d winked at Safar. "Astarias surprised us all with her fire," he said. "She may be small, my boy, but she’s as fierce as a desert lynx."

  Then he’d leaned closer to confide: "Coralean was worried that after they’d survived the demon attack with little harm, the gods would mock me. And the women would then be damaged in a silly harem fight. I have a large investment in those women, you know. Not only their purchase price, mind you, but I spent much Coralean silver assuring they were fresh and free of all diseases. And I gave a witch a fat purse to cast spells that will make them inventive and full of passion for any man who pays to be taken into their embrace."

  Safar had flushed, angry at such treatment of Astarias and her sisters. Coralean mistook his angry coloring for a village boy’s blush from hearing of such worldliness.

  "You’ll learn of these things soon enough, my boy," he’d said. "As a matter of fact we should consider furthering your education soon. I’ll make your schooling in such matters my personal responsibility. I, Coralean, do so swear. And there is not a man who knows me who will dispute that the word of Coralean is sounder than any coin a king has minted."

  His promise echoed in Safar’s thoughts as they approached Kyrania. What the caravan master intended, he didn’t know. He had several guesses, however, that had him squirming like a fly in a honeyed dilemma. If Safar was right, one part of his nature was insulted that Coralean thought so little of him. The shameful human side of him was powerfully intrigued.

  Then all thoughts were swept away when Safar saw the huge gathering at the outskirts of the village. All of Kyrania had turned out. The musicians played horns and bagpipes and drums and the whole village cheered when they saw the caravan. Safar’s family was in front with Gubadan and the village headman and elders. Everyone was dressed in their best costumes. Boys stood tall, chests puffed out, trying to look like men. The girls wore flowers in their hair and blew kisses as Safar and Iraj came near.

  All goggled and pointed excitedly when they saw the gory head. "It’s true, then," a man said, "that the demons got out!"

  "Too bad for them they met our lads, eh?" said another. "This’ll teach them to stay where they belong."

  Coralean called a halt. He raised his hand for silence and the crowd hushed. He rose up in his stirrups so all could hear.

  "Greetings, O gentle people of Kyrania," he said. "I am Coralean of Caspan. We meet in circumstances filled with both joy and fear." He pointed at the head. "There is the fear. But you will notice, no doubt, that this particular demon is taking a long rest on a stake made of good Kyranian wood." There were chortles in the crowd. "This one and his companions," Coralean continued, "defied the curse of the Forbidden Desert. Now they have their reward. To dance in the Hells for all eternity."

  Laughter and nods followed that statement.

  "And now I will speak of joy. And it is joy, not fear, that fills Coralean’s heart. For more years than it is comfortable to consider Coralean has heard other caravan masters speak of the warmth and hospitality of the people of Kyrania. My brothers of the road are notorious liars, as I’m sure you all know. But the tales were so frequent and seemed so little exaggerated that Coralean came to believe they were true. So it was with much anticipation of meeting you all that I undertook this trading journey. The Coralean business has never taken him to this side of the Bride and her Maids before.

  "During the long, hard months of travel Coralean thought of your peaceful valley many times. When we were thirsty, Coralean dreamed of the sweet waters of your lake. When we were hungry, Coralean took comfort in visions of your fat lamb kabobs and beds of barley spiced with oil from your olive trees and garlic from your gardens. When my men despaired, Coralean cheere
d them with tales of your charming village. ‘All will be well,’ I told them, ‘when we reach Kyrania.’ Yet how was Coralean to know that not only were the tales true, but Kyrania had more than mere hospitality to offer?"

  He indicated Iraj and Safar. "She also has brave young men of whom she can rightly boast. Young men whose like I’ve never had the thrill to see. And Coralean, you should know, has seen much in his long life. Others I’ve met are more full of bluster than true courage. Such men would most certainly have kept their silence and slipped away when they saw the demons creeping up on a party of strangers. And Coralean and his companions would have been doomed.

  "But these two gave not a thought for their own safety. They risked their lives when they charged out to give warning. Then they turned to fight the demons as they rode down on us. Why, none of us would be alive today if they had not taken such a brave course.

  "This one - " he pointed to Iraj - "saved Coralean’s life with an act of bravery and skill rarely witnessed. While this one - " he pointed to Safar - "joined in the fray as if he were warrior born, instead of a gentle village lad. And then, wonder of all wonders, the gods of Kyrania personally intervened. They caused a great hill of snow and ice to fall on our attackers. Proving that these mountains and this valley are the most blessed in all the world. For it is here that the curse brought these demon interlopers down.

  "After we have honored our dead, sending their souls back to the gods who made them, it is Coralean’s fondest wish to reward these young men. And to reward Kyrania, as well. The gods willing, we will have a feast tomorrow night. A feast like no other Kyrania has ever seen. And all that is eaten and drunk shall be my gift to you. I, Coralean, do so swear!"

  The crowd roared approval and crowded close to praise him and wish him well. In the confusion Safar slid off his horse and into his family’s arms. His mother cried, patting him all over to make certain he was uninjured. His father clasped his shoulder in the strong grip men of Kyrania reserve for those they honor. His sisters wept and crowded around him.

  Quetera slipped in to hug Safar when his mother stepped away. As he leaned over her child-swollen belly to kiss her she laughed at the awkward embrace.

  "I’m so proud of you, Safar," she said.

  Safar was surprised at her reaction. His dream had been so real he’d been braced for a scolding. Instead of thanking her, he blurted out that he was sorry.

  "Why should be you be, Safar?" she asked. "Why should you be sorry for bringing such honor to our family?"

  Iraj heard the exchange and pressed through to join them. "He’s just tired." He chuckled. "Spearing demons is weary work."

  Everyone laughed as if this were the greatest jest they’d ever heard. His words were passed along through the crowd of well-wishers and soon everyone was roaring.

  That was another lesson Safar learned that day: that success could turn a man’s every word into the purest gold. This was something no wizard, living or dead, could accomplish.

  * * *

  The next day everyone gathered at the temple for the funeral ceremonies. Gubadan wore yellow robes of mourning, while the villagers tied yellow sashes around their waists and streaked their cheeks with hearth dust tears. The bodies of the seven dead caravan soldiers were laid out on a raft decorated with the red streamers favored by Tristos, the god who oversees the Kingdom Of The Dead.

  While a drum hammered a slow beat, Gubadan prayed over the poor strangers who had come among them and sprinkled their white-wrapped bodies with holy oil. When the sun reached its highest point, Coralean - dressed in the flowing golden robes with the scarlet fringe of his kinsmen - stepped forward to light the oil-soaked kindling piled around the corpses. Then Iraj and Safar used long ribbon festooned poles to push the raft out into the lake. The current caught it, carrying it into the middle. Everyone prayed as thick smoke made a dark pathway in the sky. There was no wind that day and the smoke was carried high, curling under a bank of glowing white clouds, then streaming away in pale gray ribbons. Later, all said that this was a lucky sign.

  As Safar bowed his head in prayer he chanced a look and saw the women from the caravan gathered in a quiet group. They wore heavy robes and their faces were veiled, so at first he couldn’t make out Astarias. Then he saw a small figure slip her veil aside and a single eye peeped out. The eye found him. It was dark, with long flowing lashes. Safar smiled. A slender white hand fluttered at him. Then the veil was drawn back. Safar turned away, heart hammering, loins burning from the promise he thought he’d seen in that eye and fluttering hand.

  Gubadan nudged him. It was time to lead the others in the funeral song.

  The musette player set a slow tempo and one by one each instrument joined in. Safar lifted his head and let the clear, sad notes pour forth:

  Where are our dream brothers?

  Gone to sweet-blossomed fields.

  Where are our dream brothers?

  Asleep in the Gods’ high meadow.

  Our mortal hearts

  Yearn to follow their souls.

  The words carried far on the balmy air. And when the last notes fell, all were weeping.

  * * *

  Later, Coralean and the village leaders met to discuss the mysterious appearance of the demons. Safar and Iraj were allowed to attend the gathering in the large, colorful tent the caravan master had erected in the caravanserai.

  Safar had never seen such luxury. The floor was covered with many layers of thick, expensive carpets. Pillows and cushions were spread around a central fire, where a servant tended a pot of steaming brandy. All manner of fruit bobbed on top and as the servant stirred the pot it gave off an odor so heavy Safar felt a little drunk from breathing the air. Curtains divided the tent into rooms and on one side Safar saw the shadows of the courtesans moving behind the thin veil, coming close so they could listen in.

  "Here is Coralean’s view of the situation," the caravan master said. "The demons who attacked us were outlaws of the worst and most foolish kind. Their actions may even end up being a favor to us, for when they fail to return all demons will know the price that must be paid for defying the laws of the Gods."

  There were murmurs of agreement from the elders.

  "Then what shall we do about it?" Coralean said. "What is our next step? Coralean asks this, believing it would be best if we acted in concert."

  "Alert the authorities, of course," Gubadan said.

  Coralean’s bushy brows lofted. "Do you really think so, holy one?" he asked. He looked around at the others. "And who, after all, are these authorities? Coralean owes no king his allegiance. He is his own man."

  Buzal, the headman, who at eighty was the oldest of the group, said, "Kyrania makes its own laws. No one rules us." He indicated Gubadan. "Our priest has superiors, which is only natural." Buzal grinned, displaying dark, rock-hard gums. "But I don’t think they talk together much. I’d guess that they barely remember if he exists."

  Gubadan stroked his beard, then nodded in unembarrassed agreement. "We’re far away," he said. "And the temple isn’t considered important. Still, don’t we have a duty to warn others?"

  "That’s a load of goat droppings," Foron, the village smithy, broke in. "Meaning no offense, of course. What’s to warn? The demons are dead and stinking. No more are likely to come. And that’s that. The tale is told."

  "But why shouldn’t we tell others?" Gubadan asked. "What would be the harm?"

  Coralean harrumphed and all turned to see what he had to offer. "I do not know these parts," the caravan master said. "This is the first time the Coralean business has carried me over these mountains to the markets of Walaria and beyond. It cost me much to buy the necessary maps from my brother merchants. Even if this first journey proves profitable beyond my wildest estimates, it will take many such journeys before Coralean’s initial investment is repaid."

  He shook his great, shaggy head. "Even so," he said, "if Coralean were a lesser man this incident might give me pause. I might never dare such an under
taking again. And I know my brother caravan masters well enough to say with some confidence that they would feel the same if they suddenly thought these mountains had become unsafe."

  There were murmurs among the men. It would be disastrous if Coralean reported such a thing. All trade over the Gods’ Divide would cease. And more than just Kyrania would suffer. Life could become very bleak.

  "Not only would there be no more caravans crossing," Safar’s father said to Gubadan, "but there’d be no more pilgrims."

  The old priest winced. Everyone knew how much he depended on the donations of the faithful who visited the Goddess Felakia’s temple and holy lake.

  "Yes," he said, "I can see the wisdom in your words, Khadji. However, what if we are mistaken and these demons are not the only ones? We are cut off here from the rest of the world. News travels slowly. What if others have been plagued by demons? Our silence could end up being an unnecessary and dangerous decision."

  Iraj cleared his throat. All looked at him. He flushed at the attention, then emboldened himself to speak before the elders.

  "Forgive me, sirs," he said. "As you know, I made a long journey not many months ago, passing through Walaria on the way. And I heard nothing in the market place of demons... or any other dangers, for that matter, other than the usual tales of marauding bandits."

  The men listened to Iraj quite carefully and with deep respect. Safar thought it ironic that only a few days before many villagers had gone out of their way to avoid Iraj, fearing the trouble he might bring from the outside world. Now he was a hero because he’d turned back a threat from the outside.

  Gubadan gently broke in to explain Iraj’s background - carefully skirting the issue that he was hiding out from some of his own tribe. However, Coralean immediately caught on that although demons might not be riding about at will, there were other troubles to be considered.

  "May the name of Coralean be bandied about in the company of swine, if I’m wrong," the caravan master said, "But from what your wise priest just said, it sounds to me like the south is about to become a permanent battle ground for warring clans. This would almost be as bad for trade as the demons."