by John Hosh
The small island had four hills on its north side. These hills formed a semicircle that was open to the south. Snaking its way from the south toward those northern hills was a line of flickering torches.
Mentor flew along the line, which had one score of torches. Beyond the island’s north edge, he banked to the east. Flying east, he banked to the south and turned westward. He swept up the slope of the easternmost hill and landed on its crest. The other flyers except Jono landed close behind Mentor.
Jono’s broom came to a standstill when Jono was a score of strides east of his companions and down the hill from them. From that point, he went up the hill by jerks. On the hilltop, Aegis, Iphitus and Helice scattered because Jono was saying wo-wo-wo while his broom was carrying him toward Mentor’s backside. At the last moment the broom’s handle veered slightly south of Mentor’s left leg. Jono sat upright. The broom halted. Jono hovered against Mentor’s cloak.
When Jono brushed Mentor’s cloak, Mentor was looking westward and down. Mentor gave Jono only a glance. “How do you like flying, Jono? Do you feel dizzy?”
“Katabasticize,” Jono commanded. The broom’s brush fell to the ground. Jono pulled the broom from underneath him. “I’m fine. It’s fun — nothing to it,” he said. He tottered two steps southward.
The others stepped either to Jono’s left or to Mentor’s right. Everyone looked westward and down. Below the wizards, the torches were gathering.
Within the semicircle of the four hills was a flat expanse of rock. Except for the hills, this expanse was the highest part of the island. South of the expanse was a rocky slope that went almost to the sea. On the slope, close to the sea, was a village. The village had two score of thatch-roofed, mud-and-stone houses.
Dug into the south side of the expanse was an amphitheater. The amphitheater had four rows; thus it had four levels of stone seats, which faced north. The lowest level of seats was next to a flat, oval stage: the orchestra. The orchestra was as wide as four sheep put end to end and as deep as three sheep put end to end.
On the expanse, one man’s leg north of the orchestra, was an altar. The altar was a slab of rock — as thick as an apple — on top of some small boulders. The altar was four arms long and two arms wide. The long sides were pointing east and west.
Lying supine on the altar, with her head at the altar’s east side, was a girl who was two summers younger than Helice. Dressed in a leather tunic, the barefoot girl was asleep. A cord tied the girl’s hands together in front of her.
Torches and oil-lamps gave light to the amphitheater. Torches in long-necked jars were on the east side and on the west side of the altar. Oil-lamps formed a line in front of the altar. When the spectators arrived, they put their torches into long-necked jars that were standing along the amphitheater’s west side.
Standing near the altar on its north side was an altar-man. Big and chubby, the altar-man was bald and clean-shaven. He was wearing a long leather tunic and leather sandals. He had a fox’s pelt across his shoulders. He was wearing a necklace of leather cord. From the cord, a lemon-sized, wood ball was hanging. Three crow-feathers were hanging plume-downward from the ball. The altar-man had bracelets of sea-shells on his wrists and around his ankles. Under each eye, the altar-man had a black mark. The mark was like a spear-point that was upside-down.
Squinting, the altar-man watched the adults and the children sit in the rows below him. Everyone was wearing leather. Everyone was wearing sandals.
Three strides behind the altar-man, on his left, was an east-to-west line of three tall, thin-necked jars. Three strides behind the altar-man, on his right, was another east-to-west line of three tall, thin-necked jars. Each jar contained a lit torch.
Behind the altar-man, on the north side of each jar, was a strong young man. Each of these young men was facing south. Abruptly the four most westerly men strode westward. At the west end of the line of jars, the men turned southward. They went down some stairs that went into the amphitheater. After the men descended the stairs, they seated themselves among the spectators.
****
Mentor spoke gruffly, “Wizards, stay here.” He readied his broom for flight. “There will be no sacrifice if I have anything to say about it. I won’t be long. Aegis, you are in charge.” Mentor went invisible. “Anabasticize,” he commanded.
Standing in the southwest corner of the amphitheater was a young man who might have seen a score of summers. Tall and slim, the man was clean-shaven. His black, well-groomed hair was hanging a little below the top of his shoulders. He was wearing a linen garment that went over only his left shoulder.
The young man was carrying a wineskin by a strap that went over his right shoulder. The young man was shouting, “I have more wine! Who wants some?” He held up the wineskin. Young and old held clay bowls toward the man. He poured from the wineskin into the bowls.
The altar-man shouted, “Quiet, everybody! Take your seats. Let’s begin.” The altar-man raised his arms slowly to the southern sky. The standing spectators sat. All the spectators except one old man became quiet. The old man launched into a bout of loud coughing.
The altar-man cleared his throat loudly. The old man stopped coughing. The altar-man announced, “It is my duty and my honor to perform the invocation. I will call upon the gods and the goddesses to join us. If a god or a goddess comes, then bow your heads. Keep silent unless the god or the goddess asks you a question.” The altar-man paused. He cleared his throat again. He looked up.
The altar-man shouted, “O great gods and goddesses, witness our sacrifice. We live to honor you. Please do not hurt us. Protect us. Keep the dragons and the sea-monsters away. Keep the grippers away. Keep the mice and the rats out of the granaries. Keep the ticks and the fleas away from our beds. Save the sheep and the goats and the ducks and the geese. Save us from our enemies. We ask for your protection because we are really the best sort of people. Neither god nor goddess could want better people than we are. We are the best. Really we are. There’s no doubt about it — truly! We are ready to make any sacrifice you can name — whatsoever — within reason, of course. I mean I’m not going to hurt myself or anything; but, within reason, we will do our best to prove our devotion to you.
“O great gods and goddesses, you see before me a girl of tender age. Her name is Eleutheria.” For a moment the altar-man looked at Eleutheria. He stroked her hair. He looked into the sky once more. “She cannot run fast. One of her legs is much shorter than the other. But she has lovely hair and she has a nice smile. We offer her to you. She might serve us many summers, but we will do without her. We will forgo her smile. We will struggle along without her because we love you. We love her, of course, but we love you more. We are givers. We have no thought of ourselves. We think of you first, great gods and goddesses. We hope, though, the sacrifice we make will prove we deserve your gifts and your protection. We thank you for the good harvest and for filling our bowls with clean water. Keep it coming. That reminds me. It’s becoming more and more difficult to find the bigger fish like we once had here. We would really be thrilled to have the good fishing of the olden days back again. You might want to look into that . . . if you have some spare time.”
Eleutheria was moaning. She was smacking her lips. She brought her hands to her forehead.
The handsome young man who had the wineskin rose to his feet. He shouted at the altar-man, “Thank the gods for the wine!”
The altar-man nodded. The wine-bearer sat. The altar-man raised his chin again. “We thank you, O Mighty Ones, for the wine. Thank you for the apples and the peaches and the cherries and the plums and the figs. Thank you for the peas and beans and cabbages and celery and onions and artichokes and beets. Thank you for the barley, the oats and the wheat. Thank you for the honey. Thank you for the fine crop of olives — really a great crop of olives — really, first rate. I haven’t seen such big, fine olives in many seasons. By the way, we could really use some more trees down here — tall, straight trees — maybe some
fir or some spruce or pine; and cedar is always good. Throw in some . . . uh, some . . . elms and oaks if you got ’em and uh—”
The wine-bearer shouted, “Get on with it already.”
The altar-man cleared his throat. He spoke loudly, “We ask for one more blessing. It’s a small one. We are going to attack Xenos. We ask you, great gods and goddesses, to give us victory. We call upon the god of war to direct our spears into the eyes and into the guts of our enemies. We ask that you direct our stones to smash their teeth and break their legs. We ask that you help our cudgels to smash their heads and break their arms. Let us carry their heads home to decorate our walls. We ask you to make our arms strong and our shields sturdy. We ask that you give us their women and their children, but not the ones with spots or red eyes, and don’t make us run all over the place to find the good ones — like last time. We ask the god of the sea for his mercy. We ask the god of the winds to keep the seas calm. As I mentioned earlier, we need wood. Smash the boats of our enemies so that we may have their wood; or just send the whole boat. Yuh, that would be better. And make the traders more reasonable. They are too greedy. We cannot afford to give up a sheep for just a basketful of kindling. A sheep should be worth a tree-trunk as long as a boat. I remember when I was young, my father and his brother — I think it was my Uncle Themistoclës, or maybe it was Uncle Thucydidës—”
The wine-bearer shouted, “Blah! Blah! Blah! Enough talk! Get to the sacrifice!”
Chapter 11 : The sacrifice
The altar-man showed the spectators his palms. “Hold on,” he said. “Before the sacrifice, I think we should give a rousing cheer. Let’s let the gods and the goddesses know how much we adore them. I have made up a cheer. It’s easy. Repeat each line after me. Shout it out. Let’s have some enthusiasm. Ready?”
A woman yelled, “When are we going to have the sacrifice?”
“As soon as we give a hearty cheer. The faster we get this done, the sooner a harpy can take the girl. I’m going as fast as I can, but we have to do this right. Are you ready?” The spectators grumbled. The altar-man smiled. “Good. Here we go then.”
The crowd shouted, “Good. Here we go then.”
The altar-man protested, “No, no, no!”
The crowd roared, “No, no, no!”
The altar-man shouted, “Quit that!”
The crowd answered, “Quit that!”
The altar-man bellowed, “No! Stop!” He grimaced. He shoved his palms at the spectators.
The spectators roared, “No! Stop!” Some spectators shoved their palms at the altar-man, and a few spectators dropped their bowls.
The altar-man wagged his chin. He sighed. He bowed his head. Eleutheria moaned.
“Hey,” shouted the wine-bearer, “that’s not a very good cheer. Perhaps we should proceed with the sacrifice.”
The altar-man raised his head. He glared at the spectators. He bellowed, “We are not going to get to the sacrifice until we do my cheer. I’m not going to kill the girl until we do the cheer, and that’s that. No cheer means no killing. And it has to be a good cheer. Some half-hearted, mumbled noise will not do. I want a loud cheer. I want enthusiasm. I want a cheer that tells the gods and the goddesses that we love them. I want to hear some love. Understand? No love means no killing! We will turn right round and we will go home. We won’t have a good time. And you won’t have anybody to blame except yourselves.” The spectators grumbled and whispered loudly.
The altar-man roared, “Listen to me. I am going to say a line. When I raise my hand high, you say the line that I said. Wait for my hand. Do not say anything until you see my hand in the ether. Until you see my hand in the ether, stay quiet; just listen. When my hand goes up, then it’s your turn to say something.”
A woman in the first row called, “I don’t know if the children can see you from down here.”
Squinting toward the woman, the altar-man responded, “Anybody who can’t see me should join in when he hears the others.”
A woman in the second row asked, “Do we talk when your hand is down or up?”
“What did I say?”
“I wasn’t listening,” said the woman in the second row. “I thought you were talking to the first row.”
The altar-man bellowed, “LISTEN! I’m talking to everybody. Everybody, pay attention! You talk when my hand is up, up, up.” The altar-man put his right arm up.
A man called, “What are we supposed to do when your hand is down?”
The altar-man bellowed, “SHUT UP!”
The woman who had spoken earlier from the front row retorted loudly, “Well, that’s not very nice!”
The altar-man snapped, “I mean stay quiet when my hand is down.” He put his right hand down. “Here we go. Pay attention. Wait for my hand. Here comes the first line. This is it: One, two, three.” The altar-man raised his right hand.
The crowd roared, “ONE, TWO, THREE.”
The altar-man put his right arm down. He shouted, “For who are we?” He put his right arm up.
The crowd shouted, “FOR WHO ARE WE?”
The altar-man put his right arm down. He shouted, “The gods and the goddesses.” He put his right arm up.
The crowd shouted, “THE GODS AND THE GODDESSES.”
The altar-man put his arm down. He yelled, “Yay!” He put his right arm up.
The crowd yelled, “YAY.”
The altar-man put his right arm down. “That’s all there is to it,” he said. “That was easy; wasn’t it?” He turned to the north. He ordered, “Beat the drum.”
The two men who were behind the altar-man turned to the north. They walked to two leather-and-wood drums that were four strides behind the altar-man. Each man stood north of a drum and faced the altar-man. Each man took a stick that was lying atop each drum. One man struck the drum nearest him hard once with his stick. With his stick, the other man struck hard the drum nearest him. The men repeated their strikes. The drums gave off a slow, loud bim-bam.
While the drums were booming, the altar-man pulled toward him from the west end of the altar a leather package. He opened the package. Out of it, the altar-man lifted a stone knife. The knife was double-edged, one palm wide and one foot and two toes long. Grasping the handle with both hands, the altar-man pointed the knife at the sky. He pointed it toward the southeast, toward the southwest, then toward the south.
While the altar-man was displaying the knife, Eleutheria was moaning. She was rubbing her forehead with the tips of her fingers. She was squirming. When the altar-man pointed the knife to the south, Eleutheria opened her eyes.
Blue sparks swirled for an instant round the altar-man’s head. He closed his eyes. He brought the knife down slowly. When it was pointing at the spectators, the knife jerked eastward. The knife left the altar-man’s hands and hung in mid-ether at the altar-man’s left. The altar-man fell forward across Eleutheria’s knees.
Eleutheria sat up. She looked at the altar-man. The knife fell. It clattered upon the expanse.
The drummers left their sticks and rushed toward the altar-man. Blue sparks danced for a moment round the head of one drummer; then round the head of the other. The drummers’ eyes closed. The drummers collapsed two paces from the altar-man.
By jerks, the altar-man slid away from the altar. He went gently down onto the expanse. There he lay motionless.
The wine-bearer complained, “Oh, come on!” Slurring his words, he shouted, “What sort of . . . kind of . . . like show-thing are you putting on really!” He clambered up the stairs at the amphitheater’s west side. He marched unsteadily to the west side of the altar. Holding onto the west side of the altar, the wine-bearer looked at the altar-man. Unsteadily, the wine-bearer turned toward the spectators. He announced, “They’re shleeping.”
A woman from the second row declared, “There must be pixies here.”
The wine-bearer stepped across the altar-man and bent down behind the altar. Wine flowed from the wineskin. A moment later the wine-
bearer stood. He held in each hand a piece of the knife. He announced, “The knife is . . . broken.” He displayed the pieces to the spectators.
Eleutheria glowed blue. She disappeared. A white dove was strutting beside the leather cord that had bound Eleutheria’s hands. The dove leapt into the sky and flew away.
The wine-bearer let the pieces of the knife fall. When the pieces hit the expanse, the altar-man was glowing blue. He disappeared. Where the altar-man had been was a big brown toad.
For a moment the wine-bearer gawked at the toad. The wine-bearer turned toward the north. He called gruffly, “Who’s there, you? Where? Who? Show yourself.” He shuffled to his right until he was looking east. He barked, “Show yourself.”
Astride his broom, above the eastern hill, Mentor turned visible in front of Jono and the others. “The altar-man will never harm anyone again,” he said. “Follow me.”
Chapter 12 : Jono goes to sea
By Selenë’s feeble glow, Mentor and his companions were flying westward. The island of Telos appeared in front of them as a black blob. Before the flyers were over Telos, Mentor headed northwest.
Northwest of Telos a shadow was stretching across the sky. The shadow was in front of the wizards and above them. When the wizards were passing beneath the shadow, it filled the night with honks and squawks. Before anyone could say Betelgeuse, the wizards were in a downpour of sticky, stinky drops. Jono pushed his broom down. Aegis cursed, “Betelgeuse!” Helice screamed.
Bespattered and dripping, Jono was twisting and swaying downward. In less time than it takes to eat two boiled duck eggs, he was beyond the shadow. In clean ether Jono banked northward and upward. He called, “Aegis!” He spit. “I’m covered in droppings!”
From the west, two harpies were flapping toward grimy Jono. The harpies shrieked angrily, “Watch out! Get out of the way! Make way there!”
Jono pushed his broom down. The harpies passed above him. In its talons, each harpy was holding one inhabited ghost.
A gravelly man’s voice shouted, “But I’m a king!”
A shrill young woman’s voice shouted, “But I’m a princess!” The unperturbed harpies flew eastward.
Jono climbed again toward the north. Abruptly he shoved his broom down. From the north, a flock of hard clouds was heading his way. The flock had more than three score of multi-colored cubes, cones, cylinders and spheres. All the clouds were tumbling. Some clouds were loners. Some were in groups. Some were flying straight. Some were swinging from side to side. Some were flying in and out among the others.
