“Doesn’t exist?” asked Khalam-Sharru. “You will see him in the flesh! And, one way or another, you will both die. If my daughter doesn’t repent, she will die also—virgin or no. If she and you are virgins, you shall both burn on the pyre. If not, there is an even worse fate for all of you. One way or another, you are all dead. This is our city, mighty Khanshaff—holy Khanshaff. There are six thousand residents within these walls alone, and a dozen small villages and outposts throughout this region, which is Shaffnâ, the realm of real men! Can you overcome us all, fools? For what?—for one monk—this Ushwan you keep talking about? He’s nobody and we shall eat him. Even his bones shall be cracked open so that we may suck out the juicy marrow and boil them in our soup—so hearty and delectable! Are you going to kill me, monks?”
“We’ll see,” said Ifunka, trying to conceal his anger and sadness. “Watchman!” He turned to the remaining watchman. “Why did you come to this house?”
“The moat guard did not return and the wall guard on this flank have also disappeared. We came to alert Khalam-Sharru, the priest. He sits on Marakh Dairshan-eym—the Council of Thirteen.”
“What is the Council of Thirteen?”
“Twelve elders, one chosen from each of the twelve boroughs of Khanshaff. They’re selected by Marakh Ffû-daikh-naff-eym—the Council of Fifty-Nine, which consists of the chief priests of every borough, the headman of each village, the commanders of the watchmen, and the Metshu—the Sage.”
“Who is the Sage?”
“He is a mystic who can speak to animals and trees, see visions, and channel the voice of Sharru.”
“So, this is Sharru in the flesh?”
“No, Sharru lives in the Ffâna—the Temple, within the Inner Sanctum, with his companions, the Priestess and her four maidservants. Sharru rarely leaves his sanctum but the Priestess emerges from time-to-time to confer with the Sage and officiate at high sacrifices and ceremonies.”
“Is the Sage on the Council?”
“Yes, he is the chief of the Council. He’s been travelling of late, but is due to return soon.”
“It is clear, then,” Ifunka concluded. “That Sharru is a fiction—a fantasy kept alive by the concept of the ‘Inner Sanctum’. This Priestess is nothing more than a deceiver and a liar.”
“Oh, you would not say that if you saw him—and saw her!”
“How; why?”
“He is glorious to behold—a living god!”
“Impossible. Have you see him?” asked Shem.
“No,” the watchman admitted. “But my grandfather did.”
“Nonsense!” shouted Ifunka.
“It’s true,” averred Khalam-Sharru. “And I have seen him.”
“You would say that!”
“Tell me, virgin,” Khalam-Sharru continued. “Will you still love my daughter when you see the Priestess? You will not keep your virginity so easily then!”
“I love rva and no other.”
“Have you ever loved another?”
“What? I—that’s inconsequential.”
“Your ‘love’ is nothing more than the urges of your khaffshik loins. It will pass. And then another beauty will captivate you and rva will fade like a lost memory, even as your previous beloved has faded from your memory.”
“I won’t hear this!”
“But you must! I am on the Council of Thirteen and I know more than you. Your plan is hopeless; trust me. As soon as the rest of the Council know what you are doing, this whole city will be up in arms. That watchman—do you know his name?”
“No.”
“Ask him then!”
“Very well, who are you, watchman?”
“Sharru-Mashda,” he replied. “Member of the Council of Fifty-Nine.
“When the Council of Fifty-Nine notice that their colleague is missing, what do you think will happen then?” Khalam-Sharru taunted him. “Will they give up and go home? Six thousand Shaffu shall descend upon you and you shall most certainly die, in the name of Sharru, the true god!”
“Praise his name!” said Sharru-Mashda. “He is mashda!”
“Mashda?”
“Magnificent,” Khalam-Sharru translated.
“Well, we do not need you any more, Sharru-Mashda. Are you willing to take the Testimony of Faith and leave the accurséd illusions which you are currently suffering from? Will you cast out Asharru from your heart and embrace the Right Religion of the Holy Tamitvar?”
“Never!” he replied.
“Good; that eases my conscience,” said Ifunka matter-of-factly. “I forgot to ask Hara-Sheft, though his answer would have been the same. Shem!”
“Wait!” Khalam-Sharru pleaded. “He has answered your questions!”
“The last answer was unsatisfactory. Do it!”
Shem raised the bloodied axe, still dripping wet, and hewed off Sharru-Mashda’s head.
“Now; where is Brother Ushwan?” Ifunka asked with a slight smile.
The blood and violence was getting to him, warping his mind.
“You should have asked Sharru-Mashda; I’ll tell you nothing.”
“You look thirsty. What say we give the councillor a drink?”
“Indeed,” agreed Shem as he reached for the wooden bucket full of water.
Grabbing him by his thick black hair, Shem shoved his head into the bucket. He struggled. Ifunka held him down. rva got up and left the room in tears. She couldn’t handle it; neither could Meyla, for, whatever disaffection she may have had for her father, she could not tolerate seeing him harmed in any way. Khalam-Sharru struggled like a wild boar, trying to break free from his bonds.
“Enough!” said Ifunka, just as the priest began to succumb to oxygen deprivation.
Shem released him from the bucket, his face pale green, wet and panicked. His eyes were wide, alarmed, his hair dishevelled, veins pulsating on his forehead and neck.
“All right; I’ll tell you,” he said. “If you promise, by your Great Spirit, not to kill me now.”
“If you attack us or try to escape, we must kill you.”
“Very well, but for no other reason. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” said Ifunka.
“Right, then. Your brother, Ushwan, is being held at the heart of the city, in the dungeon of the sacrificial offerings, which is located below the Council Headquarters, adjacent to the Temple of Asharru. It’s heavily guarded and Ushwan is due to be sacrificed tomorrow, along with twelve other virgins: six men and six women. We’re awaiting the return of the Sage, who is due to arrive from a recent journey in time for the ceremony.”
“What happens at this sacrifice?”
“The Sage and the Priestess will officiate, in the presence of the Council of the Thirteen and the Council of the Forty-Nine, as well as a crowd of spectators, in the Square of Sacrifice—the courtyard of the holy Temple. The sacrificial virgins will be stripped naked, smothered in oils and fragrant perfume and their private parts covered with a red loin-cloth of woffgi-silk. One each of the male and female offerings will be selected by the Priestess and given a choice: the man will be given the option of giving his virginity to the Priestess while the woman will be offered the choice of giving her maidenhead to the Sage, thus escaping the fire.”
“Does anyone refuse?”
“Ha, ha, ha,” Khalam-Sharru laughed. “When they have been ravaged, the man and woman are thrown to the sacrificial ffaika—the forest worm who lives within a chamber underneath the temple; eaten alive and digested in its fearsome belly.”
“Ah, I see,” said Ifunka. “So, it doesn’t happen often then?”
“It happens all the time,” he replied. “Then the number is completed by taking two virgins from the watching crowd.”
“How do you know that someone is a virgin?”
“The Sage knows.”
“So, to
accept the Priestess or Sage is to kill other innocents. Why do they choose that fate?”
“The Priestess is irresistible. You shall see and you shall succumb to her charms. The Sage also; he can melt a woman with his eyes, so powerful is his capacity for seduction.”
“I think you underestimate us,” Ifunka retorted. “I can make your daughter quiver and sigh with a mere glance.”
“Bastard!!!” Khalam-Sharru cried.
“Ifunka!” rva called.
She entered the room.
“I be your wife soon. You listen me! No more hurt baba heart. He is infidel, but my heart is big. I love him. Baba—” she turned to Khalam-Sharru. “Ifunka not kill you. You love me; he love. Help me.”
The priest’s heart melted within him.
“rva, I forgive you,” he said. “I’ve always doted on you and I had high expectations for your future, even that you could become a new maidservant for Asharru himself. I’ll make this deal. If you, Ifunka, take my daughter away and forget about Ushwan, I’ll let you go and pass this whole thing off as a kidnapping. No one will know who you were and there will be no consequences for your actions. Take care of my daughter and Meyla and keep them happy. That’s all I ask.”
“No!” Ifunka cried. “I can’t leave Ushwan. We’ve come too far for that. We’ve shed too much blood for that. I shall love your daughter with all my heart, as Shem loves Meyla, but I will free Ushwan, even if I have to kill the Sage, the Priestess and the whole Council!”
“You’re going to get killed, you foolish bastard!” Khalam-Sharru shouted. “And my daughter is going to be sacrificed on the pyre! Even if you take her maidenhead, she’s going to be fed to the worm. Do you not understand that?”
“Accept the Great Spirit as the one true God,” replied Ifunka. “And Votsku as the Seer who revealed the Holy Tamitvar through the inspiration of the Archangel Hashemaff.”
“You deluded fool!” Khalam-Sharru cursed him. “I can never accept your khaffshik religion. Save my daughter and save yourself!”
“I believe in one God; I believe in the Holy Tamitvar,” said Ifunka, ignoring him. “Shem; lock him in here. It’s your wedding night. I’ll marry you and Meyla. Then I’ll take the first watch, for four hours. You can take the second watch. Then rva… no, Meyla. rva is too close to him. Rejoice, brother, tonight you shall be married!”
They secured Khalam-Sharru, tied him to the door, gagged him and left him to his own devices while the four companions cleaned up and changed into fresh clothes; they then went to the secondary reception room in order to complete the marriage ceremony. Ifunka repeated the first part of the ceremony and then asked Shem:
“Dost thou agree to marry this bird?”
“Harei!” he answered enthusiastically.
Shem kissed Meyla passionately and they all rejoiced. rva brought some food from the larder: a round, salted loaf of bread called a ftelish (or tvelish in Tremni) and a type of yoghurt made from meb-milk called mebshâsh. They enthusiastically ate up. Ifunka then begged his leave and returned to watch Khalam-Sharru in the blood-soaked, corpse-strewn reception room.
Meyla and Shem repaired to their bedroom where she hurriedly divested herself of her garments to reveal the fullness of her soft, silky-smooth and fulsome figure, her curls bouncing over her supple neck and sweet bodily features; beautifully light-green skin shaped into wide curves of ideal proportions. She seemed to him a symphony of beauty, a luscious repast dying to be kissed, touched, caressed and fondled. He threw off his own vestments and joined her on the bed as they playfully touched and explored each other’s bodies in the innocence and full-flower of youth’s blossoming maturity. Their love was intense, new, a combination of pain and pleasure satisfied by the safe knowledge that they were now united in wedlock, joined in a life-long union sanctioned by the Great Spirit, which made their pleasures legitimate and yet more potent.
As the newly-weds consummated their wedded bliss, Ifunka watched the priest intently and was, in turn, watched, hawk-like, by him. rva had been sent to bed, like a dutiful child—she was only sixteen after all. Meyla was yet younger—fifteen—but in the full flower of her womanhood. Hour after hour, Khalam-Sharru watched his foe with hate-filled eyes until, eventually, Ifunka could sustain his gaze no more and burst out:
“What is it, demon-worshipper? Do you hope to kill me with your eyes?”
“You have taken my life from me!” he replied.
“Oh, I have taken your life from you?” Ifunka replied. “You infidels killed my uncle and aunt. I had been abandoned by my parents—they were my only true family, and now I have nothing left but my brother Shem and your daughter, whom I love. I have saved her soul from eternal damnation. You tell me who has taken what from whom?”
“She is all I have. Her mother, Lîfa, died in childbirth; and Meyla—she is like a daughter to me as well. Do you think us incapable of love?”
“I do not.”
“Yet you kill us indiscriminately?”
“You slaughter innocent men, women, and children like sheep—nay, dogs! You burn virgins alive to placate a false god!”
“Asharru lives—we, as the Council, are privileged to see him. Some love him; we, as priests, are supposed to love him, but every one fears him. He does not die but lives eternally in the flesh. If he lived in your city and you knew no other god, would you not worship him? We are following only what our forefathers followed.”
“God does not want innocents to be sacrificed on a pyre. He wants us to do good and worship him. Listen, the Holy Tamitvar says, ‘oshokipatve ffogash: etv gel ffonashmozin parlaktant aftokti parlaktilei; hash reffeleim sapi tvakim Wabak Kakan lishantilei. Vocarum: Ramut elenarum, om venda—lei!—phel uom cub sapiem hithio cub paterioceiCum cultaphunmonathalei’ (‘the infidels say, we worship only what our forefathers worshipped; yet the Great Spirit has given each man a choice. Say: choose God, O people—yea!—even He who created you, male and female, from clay and water’).”
“Our god demands fear and vengeance.”
“If you can see him, flesh and blood, he is not a god, but a man. God is a Spirit who speaks through His Archangel, Hashemaff.”
“You have great faith, monk. Now, I do not hate you. I do not believe in your invisible god, but I bless your marriage to my daughter.”
“You’ve placed me in an awkward position; I have you captive.”
“I understand. In any case, your watch is over. Get your friend, my erstwhile torturer, to come.”
“It’s his wedding night.”
“Nevertheless—fair is fair. You’re tired. I can’t sleep with you here; no man loves his son-in-law. Go on!”
Ifunka walked to the corridor.
“Shem!” he called out.
Shem leapt out of bed, still completely nude, and threw on his robes.
“Husband!” Meyla woke up in alarm.
“Don’t worry; I’m taking the watch. Get back to sleep.”
“Rî (yes),” she said and covered herself in the warm blankets.
Shem rushed downstairs and took up his position. Khalam-Sharru fell sound asleep as soon as Ifunka left the room. He’d been speaking the truth. Ifunka decided to check on rva. Peering into her room, he found her fast asleep, breathing softly like an angel, her chest lifting the silken blankets with every exhalation. He had not been given a room so he spent some time exploring the house, room after room, until he found one which satisfied his tastes. The Shaffu were unusual amongst inhabitants of the planet Tremn in that they were accustomed to using soft beds. He found, however, one mattress which was sufficiently hard, being stuffed full of braksh-wheat; a bed perhaps intended for a lesser servant.
“Decadently soft,” he said before laying on its rough sheets. “What would the Abbott say? Yet lying with my face in rva’s bosom; that would I do!”
Washing his hands and face in the washbasin, he
performed the kashafftishatvin prayer and went to sleep. rva woke him at around dawn. He awoke gently as she kissed his brow. Opening his eyes, he saw her delicate neck above his face.
“Am I in Ganka?” were his first words.
She giggled and smiled.
“You say Ganka; tell me more about Ganka.”
Her smile was like a vast river, dazzling white in the noon-day sun.
“Ganka is Paradise; an endless expanse of redolent gardens, luscious and beautiful beyond imagination; rivers with endless mossy banks, fresh springs of never-depleting wine, pure water, and milk; mansions of solid ruby, diamond, and emerald; temples of marble, gold and precious stones; never-ending banquets of succulent food to delight every taste; glorious music, heavenly carols sung by a limitless host of white-winged angels, harps, mimgeffs, and other heavenly instruments in hand, their voices instilling an ecstasy most complete; wide-eyed companions, virgins of every hue, from pure white to darkest black, with silken hair and luscious beauty, sufficient to delight every righteous man.”
“Will you forget me in this Paradise?”
“No, no companion of heaven will ever surpass you.”
She kissed him again, this time on the lips.
“Let’s not get carried away,” he said. “It’s time to pray.”
“Pray?” she asked.
“Yes, you know, to the Great Spirit.”
“What is prayer?”
“It is communion with the Great Spirit.”
“We talk him?”
“He hears all, remember? We can talk to Him and He speaks to us.”
The Rise of Plant Man, Lord of War, Conquest and Revenge: Green Monk of Tremn, Part II (Coins of Amon-Ra Book 2) Page 8
