When the Gods Slept

by Allan Cole

  As he went by the altar he saw five acolytes cleaning up after a recent sacrifice. Their shabby robes were hiked up and they were on their hands and knees scrubbing the steps and platform with worn brushes.

  Safar remembered a time when that grisly task was his sole and constant duty.

  As he passed by the laboring youths he recalled the moment when he’d first met Umurhan.

  * * *

  It was a dreary winter day and the skies were as ashen as the altar stone. Safar had lost count of the weeks he’d spent on scabby knees washing the steps and platform. It was so cold that every time he plunged his brush into the scrub bucket a film of ice formed moments after he withdrew it.

  He’d reported to the repetitious priest each morning, asking when he’d be allowed to attend classes. The answer had always been the same - "You came late in the year. Late in year. Keep working. Working. Soon as there’s an opening... an opening... I’ll let you know. Let you know."

  And Safar would say, "Yes, Holy One," as contritely as he could - just as Gubadan had instructed him before he’d left Kyrania. As each day blended into miserable day he became more impatient. He’d come Walaria to learn, not to scrub floors. Moreover, Coralean was paying a high price to fund his studies. Safar was supposed to be a student, not a slave.

  On that particular day he’d reached the sheerest edge of his patience and was thinking mightily of packing his kit and setting off for home - and to the Hells with Walaria. He was actually in the act of rising from his knees when there came a sudden hubbub of activity.

  The repetitious priest rushed into the courtyard, surrounded by other priests and a great crowd of acolytes from the Walaria school of wizardry. It was an elite group of less than a hundred. These were the students deemed to have talent enough for intense instruction in the magical arts. Safar’s own sights were not raised that high. At that time all he wanted was a chance to join the main student body and get a thorough grounding in general knowledge. But when he studied the group, saw their look of immense superiority, noted the weak buzz of their magic, he experienced a momentary flash of jealousy. He brushed it aside and as the excited group crowded into the courtyard he grabbed up his bucket and moved to a far corner where he could watch without being noticed.

  From the murmuring of the acolytes he gathered that an important man had approached Umurhan for a great favor. It seemed the man had committed some wrong the group was evenly divided between betrayal of a relative, and the murder of a slave and wanted to make sacrifice to the gods beseeching their forgiveness. But he wanted to do it as privately as possible, so he’d made a large donation to the temple to pay for a non-public ceremony. After the cleansing, Safar heard the acolytes say, rich gifts would be passed out among the students to buy their silence.

  When he heard this he made himself even less obtrusive, ducking behind a column overgrown with thick vines.

  A moment later cymbals crashed and two men strode into the courtyard, boys scampering before them tossing petals onto the path and waving smoking incense pots to sweeten the air they breathed. There was no mistaking that one of the men dressed in the flowing robes of a master wizard, was Umurhan. Even if he were blind, Safar would have sensed the man’s presence, for the air was suddenly heavy with the stink of sorcery. Then Safar was rocked by another surprise. For the richly dressed, heavily bejeweled man striding beside Umurhan was none other than Lord Muzine. Although he’d never been personally introduced to Muzine, the merchant prince had been pointed out to him one day when he passed in his luxurious carriage, drawn by four perfectly matched black horses. Muzine had a face like a double-headed hammer turned handle up. It was long and narrow until it reached the chin which bulged out on both sides.

  The courtyard was hushed as the two men mounted the platform and approached the altar of Rybian, the king of the gods and the deity who created all living things from holy clay. Umurhan and two brawny lads in robes of pristine white solicitously helped Muzine kneel before the stone idol of that kindly visaged god.

  Umurhan turned to face the acolytes, his eyes fierce under his bat-winged brows.

  "Brothers," he said, "we are here today to assist a good man, a kindly man, who by unfortunate circumstance has stumbled off the path of purity he has tenaciously traveled his whole life. We are not here to judge him, for who among us could judge a man known far and wide for his sweet disposition and generous charity? This man has come to me, his heart bared, his soul in torment. He has sinned, but who among us has not? So we will not judge him. Instead we will beseech the great and merciful Rybian, father of us all, to take pity on this poor mortal and forgive him for any transgressions the Fates forced him to commit.

  "And so I ask you today, my brothers of the spirit, to join me willingly and wholeheartedly in this mission of mercy. The man you see humbled before you is one who deserves no less and it is an honor for our university and temple to help him in this most delicate of matters."

  While Umurhan spoke the lads in white gently removed Muzine’s tunic, leaving him bare to the waist, the soft pink flesh of his heavy richman’s torso revealed to all. Then they uncoiled small whips, belted about their waists.

  "Are there any objections?" Umurhan asked. "Is there anyone present who cannot find it in his heart to help this man? If so, I kindly ask you to withdraw from our company. You will be thought no less of for making such a decision. Your conscience, we all know, must be your guide."

  Umurhan swept the crowd with his fierce eyes, but no one stirred.

  He nodded and said, "More to your credit, brothers. The gods will bless you for this."

  Safar heard someone nearby mutter under his breath, "So will my tavern bill, Master."

  There were a few chuckles at this, covered by Umurhan’s signal for all to kneel. The acolytes dropped to the ground as one, bowing their heads low and beating their breasts.

  Umurhan announced, "Let the blessing ceremony begin."

  From somewhere came the sound of lutes and bells and drums. Priests led the acolytes in song after song, begging Rybian’s attention.

  The first song was Umurhan’s famous Last Prayer that everyone heard every evening at the close of day.

  "We are men of Walaria, good men and pious.

  Blessed be, blessed be.

  Our women are chaste, our children respectful.

  Blessed be, blessed be..."

  While the assembly sang, the white-robed lads gently touched their lashes against Muzine’s flesh in the motions of whipping. Muzine wailed as if he were being severely tormented, believing, as all did, that the louder his cries, the more painful-sounding his shrieks, the more the God Rybian would be fooled into thinking Muzine was being sorely punished.

  Finally, Muzine gave a scream more terrible than the others and collapsed on the floor. His minders quickly anointed his back - which was unmarked - with soothing oils, kissing him and whispering words of sympathy in his ear. When Muzine deemed sufficient time had passed for him to make a recovery, he rose up with much pretended difficulty and pain. Tears streamed down his long face, which was split by the beatific smile of one who has found the Light again. The lads helped him with his tunic and gave him a tumbler of spirits. Muzine drank deeply, wiped his eyes and then joined in the songs.

  Safar became bored with the farce and looked about to see if there was a way he could creep off without being noticed. Just then the iron gates of the animal cage clanged open and his head swiveled back to see what poor creature Muzine had chosen to bribe Rybian’s forgiveness.

  To his surprise, he saw an old lioness being led out on a slender silver chain. Muzine must have done something really awful, Safar thought. He’d been at the temple long enough to know that a lion was the most expensive and therefore rarest single animal to be sacrificed. Safar decided the sin must have been murder, and probably not that of a slave.

  He looked closer at the huge lioness - which stood nearly as high as the white-robed boy who led her. Her movements were slow, paws dr
agging as she took each step toward the altar. Her eyes were so heavy from the drugs she’d been fed that they were mere slits on either side of her broad face. Despite the size of the lioness, Safar’s heart gave a wrench, for she reminded him of his family cat in Kyrania who patrolled the goat stalls for greedy rodents. It had sat on his lap for many an hour, cleaning itself and consoling him when he told it his boyhood miseries.

  Then he noticed the lionesses’ large, swinging pouch and heavy teats and knew she’d recently given birth. Even drugged, he thought, she must be in a torment wondering what had happened to her cubs.

  Umurhan signaled and the singing stopped. He turned to the altar, saying, "O Rybian, Merciful Master of us all, take pity on this poor mortal before you. Forgive him his sins. Accept this humble gift he presents you. And let him sleep once again in all innocence."

  Umurhan motioned and one of the boys led Muzine to the lioness. He handed the merchant a large sacrificial knife. The other boys crowded close, holding elaborately decorated jars to catch the blood. Muzine gingerly gripped the lioness by her scruff. She made no motion or sign that she understood what was happening. The Muzine drew the knife across her throat. Blood dribbled from the cut, but the flow was so slight that Safar knew Muzine’s nerve had failed and he hadn’t been able to cut deeply enough to end the lioness’ suffering.

  Muzine tried again and this time a boy gripped his hand, pushing hard and making sure the deed was properly done. The lioness moaned and blood gushed into the bowls.

  She sagged to the floor.

  Everyone cheered and jumped up, praising Rybian and welcoming the sinner Muzine’s return to the fold. Muzine came forward, Umurhan at his side, to accept the acolytes’ congratulations. Behind them the three white-robed lads got busy butchering the lioness out to prepare for the next stage of the ceremony.

  Then the din was shattered by a spine-freezing roar and everyone’s heart stopped and everyone’s head jerked toward the half-skinned corpse.

  The air above the dead beast turned an angry red and then all gasped as the lioness’ ghost emerged, crouching on the body, tail lashing, lips peeled back over long yellow fangs, screaming her hatred.

  The ghost lioness leaped and the frozen tableaux became unstuck. There were screams and the crowd ran for cover, tangling and jamming the exits with their bodies.

  Safar stayed in his hiding place and saw that despite the hysteria a dozen priests and acolytes quickly surrounded Umurhan and Muzine and got them to safety through a small door at the edge of the altar.

  Meanwhile, the ghost cat sailed into the mass of fleeing figures. She struck out with her translucent claws. Blood sprayed in every direction and there were screams of pain from the wounded. Then she caught someone in her jaws and held him down while the others scrambled away - jamming the exits and hugging the walls.

  The ghost lion crouched over her victim, gripping him by the shoulder and shaking him furiously back and forth. The young man she’d caught was still alive and wailed most piteously.

  Suddenly what felt like an unseen hand pushed Safar out of hiding. He walked slowly toward the raging lioness, one part of him gibbering in fear, the other intent only on the soul of the poor Ghostmother, alone and agonizing over her newborn cubs the only way she knew how.

  The ghost saw him and dropped the screaming acolyte. She snarled and paced toward him, extended claws clicking on the stone. But Safar kept on, his pace slow and measured. He held out his right hand - two fingers and a thumb spreading wide in the universal gesture of a wizard forming a spell.

  He spoke, his voice low and soothing. "I’m sorry to see you here, Ghostmother," he said. "This is a terrible place for a ghost. So much blood. So little pity. It will spoil your milk and your cubs will go hungry."

  The lioness ghost kept coming, eyes boiling, jaws open and slavering. Safar went on, closing the distance between them, talking all the while.

  "Evil men did this to you Ghostmother," he said. "They trapped you and slew your cubs. They brought you to this place to die. But the guilty ones aren’t in this courtyard, Ghostmother. There are only human cubs, here. Male cubs, Ghostmother. And it your duty to see that no harm comes to male cubs."

  The stalking ghost growled, but her fury seemed lessened. A few more steps and then the two met - and stopped.

  Safar steeled his nerves as the lioness, instead of killing him on the spot, sniffed his body, growling all the while. When she was done she looked him in the face, cat’s eyes searching deep into his own for any lie that might be hidden there. Then she roared and it was so loud he was nearly lifted out of his sandals. But he held steady, and then the ghostly form of the lioness sat back her heels - face level with his own.

  "You see how it is, Ghostmother," he said. "I had nothing to do with your sadness, although I mourn the loss." He gestured at the cowering acolytes. "And these male cubs are as innocent as I. Please don’t harm them, Ghostmother."

  The lion ghost yawned its anxiety, but sank down at Safar’s feet.

  "It’s time you thought of yourself, Ghostmother," Safar said. "Your cubs are dead and their little ghosts are hungry. You should go to them quickly so they don’t suffer. Think of them, Ghostmother. They have no experience in this world, much less the next. Haven’t you heard them crying for you?

  "Why, listen - they’re crying now."

  Safar made a gesture and there came the faint sound of mewing from far away. The ghost’s ears shot up and she cocked her head, eyes wide with concern. Safar gestured again and the mewing grew louder and more frantic. The lioness whined.

  "Go to them, Ghostmother," Safar said. "Leave this place and find peace with your cubs."

  The lioness bolted up. Safar forced to himself not to react in alarm. Then she roared a final time and vanished.

  For a moment the only sound was the echo of the lioness’ roar. Then all became confusion as everyone shouted in relief and ran to Safar to thank him. Then, in the midst of this chaos, the crowd suddenly went silent and parted. Safar, still dazed and weary from his effort, saw Umurhan approach as if in a haze.

  "Who is he?" he heard the wizard ask.

  "Safar Timura, Master. Safar Timura. A new acolyte. He’s new."

  Umurhan’s eyes swiveled to Safar. They looked him up and down, measuring. Then he asked "Why didn’t tell anyone you had the talent, Acolyte Timura?"

  "It’s nothing, Master," Safar said. "My talent is very small."

  "I’ll be the judge of that, acolyte," Umurhan answered. He turned to the repetitious priest. "Begin Acolyte Timura’s education tomorrow," he ordered.

  Then, without another word or look at Safar, he stalked away.

  All became confusion again as Safar’s fellow students crowded around to clap his back and congratulate him for being admitted to the ranks of the university’s elite.

  * * *

  Safar hurried down the long main corridor of the first floor. There was no one to be seen - most of the students and priests would be gathered in prayer in the main assembly hall at this hour. The classrooms and offices he went by were empty and he could smell the stale stink of old magic from the practice spells his fellow students had cast the day before.

  At the end of the corridor he came to the vast stairwell that joined the various levels. One group of stairs led downward, into the bowels of the university. The other climbed to the second floor where Umurhan and the priests lived. Safar hesitated, torn between his original purpose and the sudden thought the knowledge he sought in Umurhan’s library would most likely be unguarded. He’d have about half an hour before the daily assembly ended and Umurhan and the other priests returned to the top floor.

  "You can go either way," Gundara whispered from his shoulder. "Both are safe."

  "Maybe later," Safar muttered, and then he ran down the stairs before the new idea could delay him from his most important task.

  * * *

  Although Safar met with Umurhan many times after the incident with the lioness, the wizard neve
r thanked him or even raised the subject again. As Safar’s education progressed and it soon became clear to all that he was a remarkable student of sorcery, Umurhan not only kept his distance but seemed to become colder - and Safar would look up suddenly from his studies and find the wizard watching him. Gubadan had warned Safar about Umurhan before he’d left Kyrania. Although he’d never told the old priest about his abilities, Safar got the impression during that last conversation somehow Gubadan had guessed something was up - and that there was magic behind it.

  "Lord Umurhan has the reputation of being a jealous man," Gubadan had told him. "He doesn’t like students or priests who show off their intelligence or powers. So beware, my lad. Every teacher doesn’t receive his reward from guiding a young man to heights they could never achieve themselves. Go carefully in Lord Umurhan’s presence, is my best advice to you. And never, never show him up."

  Safar took Gubadan’s advice to heart. As he progressed through his classes and spell-casting sessions he was always careful not to outshine Umurhan - although it soon became apparent to him that he could, especially as he learned more and delved on his own into the arcane arts of sorcery. He occasionally made purposeful mistakes when he thought Umurhan was becoming suspicious. Umurhan always took particular pleasure when Safar pretended to bumble, chastising him loudly, calling him a mountain bumpkin and other names intended to humiliate.

  Umurhan loved to lord his mastery over the acolytes. He also held back his knowledge. When the classes became more advanced and the students were closing the ground on Umurhan, he protected his self esteem by teaching only so much and no more. When a spell was particularly powerful Umurhan tended to make his explanations so obscure no one could follow them, much less duplicate the spell. He also had a way of excusing himself when a thorny question was asked. He’d nervously plead other business, disappear for a short time, then return and answer the question with a confidence his previous demeanor hadn’t shown.

  Where he went during that time was no mystery to any of the students. They were at a cynical age, an age when details older people might overlook were easily apparent to them. It was an open secret Umurhan retired to his private library during those moments, cribbing from ancient masters to shore up his own facade. No one but Umurhan was allowed to peruse the books in that library. The excuse given was that there were forbidden books and scrolls on the black arts stored there that were so deadly, so evil, that no one but the High Priest of Walaria should read them - and then only in an emergency and only to ward off black spells cast against the city.