The Punishment Of The Gods (Omnibus 1-5)

by Jake Yaniak

  Cheft Ponteris at Peiraso

  While the Army of Galva trudged through the Noras wilds and slowly but surely approached the slopes of Mount Coronis, Cheft Biron held many councils in the meeting hall of Peiraso.

  Immediately following the meeting of the Galva Council he had sent messengers throughout Noras. By runner and rider he called to his estate some forty Cheftans, many of them from remote portions of the forest. Something had been troubling him of late. 'Like a forgotten dream,' he told Lady Marima. 'I feel as though I have been shaken from the midst of a troubling dream, yet I cannot remember a thing of it. There is something lurking in the shadow of my mind.'

  'You need rest, my lord,' she would tell him. 'Then perhaps it will return to you.'

  'But rest fails me while I yet stand here in ignorance. I must take council.'

  'But how are you so certain that your fears are not needless, my lord. Care can be had in excess, or so it has been said.'

  'There is not a shadow cast where no body stands. I can see the shadows at every council and in every deed that is done in our forest of late. But as of yet I have not been able to discover the cause of it.'

  'But how will this council differ from those you have held already?' Lady Marima asked, puzzled.

  'This time my eyes will be fully open,' he said in almost a whisper, 'And we shall see whether I am imagining danger where there is none.'

  In the meanwhile both Cheft Biron and his wife were kept occupied. There were many preparations to be made before the other Cheftans began to arrive. There was food to be ordered and lodging to be prepared. The Noras were hardier than most races, but their Cheftans still expected to live comfortably, especially when summoned to a council in the dead of winter.

  Lord Ponteris was especially restless in those days. He could be seen wandering about idly, sometimes for hours. At times he would gaze out the window at the encamped peasants and after a while simply shake his head. He stayed indoors for the most part, though at times he was seen wandering the perimeter of the estate in the early morning. He said little, and ate even less. Altogether it seemed quite clear that he was not comfortable in Peiraso.

  One cold morning Lady Marima found him sitting alone in a small pantry near the servants' kitchen.

  'My lord must find Peiraso dreadful,' she said, laughing.

  Cheft Ponteris rose from his seat. 'My apologies, my fair lady,' he said with a bow.

  'It is a pity that Lady Linae was not able to be here. She is such a lovely woman, you must be very proud.'

  The Cheftan hesitated for a moment. 'Indeed. She is greatly missed.'

  'Are you hungry, my lord?' Lady Marima asked.

  'No, I am not,' the Cheft answered swiftly and awkwardly.

  'Well, if you are, you will find better service in the dining hall. This hall is for the servants.'

  With this Ponteris bowed and walked away to some other part of the house. Many others reported stumbling into the Cheftan in unlikely places. He was always alone, but he never really seemed to be lost. He was seen among the stables, silently examining the horses, he was seen in the halls looking at the woodwork; by the time the first of the Cheftans began to arrive he had spied out the entire house. All of this Cheft Biron noted well.

  In the days leading up to the meeting of the Noras Council, Biron himself had the misfortune, as he called it, of spending a considerable amount of time in conversation with Cheft Ponteris. It would always come about in the same way. Biron would stumble upon Ponteris in some strange and unexpected corner of the house. Before he could ask for any explanation, Cheft Ponteris would interrupt him with an anecdote or a joke or riddle.

  'Several years ago, around the time of the autumn sacrifice,' Ponteris would begin, 'my driver and I had come to the edge of my property, just before the road turns north toward Galva. You've seen my home before, haven't you?' Ponteris asked, interrupting himself.

  'Yes, once or twice, though it has been quite some time since I have had the opportunity to visit.'

  'Very good. Then you will certainly remember the stone-carving that I had built on the right-hand side of the gate?'

  Biron paused for a moment and shook his head.

  'The large sculpture of an Aggelos woman, carved in white stone?' Biron shook his head again. Ponteris seemed insulted. 'Well, I suppose it cannot be helped if the Galvahirne have no great love of craft and beauty,' he snapped.

  'The Galvahirne love beauty, my friend,' Biron said calmly. 'It is just that beauty is so wearisome and impractical that we seek our happiness in the usefulness rather than the elegant. As you say, beauty requires work, and we Galvahirne cannot spare the labor to craft such things.'

  'Well, at any rate,' Ponteris said, gruffly returning the conversation to its path. 'As we approached this statue there appeared in the road a little peasant girl. How she came to be on the road so near to my estate was a mystery; she probably got lost in the woods while her mother was picking berries or nuts and whatever other things peasants eat. But however it was that she came to be in the road, there she stood, right in the path of our carriage.'

  'How dreadful, what happened?' Biron said, now seeming more interested.

  'We were faced with an awful dilemma, my friend. If we swerved to the right, we would smash and mar one of the most glorious stone-work statues in all of Weldera; certainly in all of Noras. But on the other hand, if we swerved our carriage to the left, we would trample the pathetic little girl to the ground. Our speed was too great, since we were as yet not even on the main road and were still traveling on my own private drive. My driver shouted, that we could not stop the horses ere we collided with one or the other. "We must turn aside!" he yelled.'

  'So what did you decide?'

  'Well, I felt that there would always be more peasant girls; there would certainly be more of her kind. You know, the rosy cheeked little girls that live in the wild places of northern Lavri-la and even in some parts of Galva-la. These creatures come and go; they always have and always will, as long as the world endures. But the like of this statue cannot be replaced, not though a hundred artists labor for three ages of the world.'

  'So you chose to turn aside to the left and ride over the girl?' Biron said with a grave expression on his face.

  'That is the decision that I came to in that terrible moment. And it was no easy judgment to make. After all, despite her homeliness, the child had an innocent and endearing little face. I am almost brought to tears just thinking about it.' He looked at Biron and laughed. 'Don't worry, Cheftan!' he said. 'Good Pelas was merciful to me that day and broke the two back wheels of my carriage just at that moment. We crashed to the earth and with one violent jerk we were brought to a halt, saving both child and statue.'

  Biron looked relieved, though he still looked at his fellow with disdain.

  'So it was that by the grace of Pelas, beauty and innocence were saved together!' Ponteris laughed. Biron stood up and wandered to the other side of the room.

  'I got to thinking about why it was that I was so sorely vexed in that moment about my decision,' Ponteris added, not letting his host escape the conversation. 'My driver's inclination was to spare the girl and go crashing into the statue, shattering the delicate masonry. But my own heart said to spare the glorious stone. But why should I choose one over the other? What makes this little girl more valuable than my statue? Those are the questions that I began asking myself. I asked my driver and he simply responded that "It's just the way things are, master." I asked my wife, the lovely Lady Linae, but she just slapped me.' Biron laughed heartily upon hearing that.

  'But to be quite honest, I could not find any difference between them that would justify the destruction of so marvelous a sculpture. They are both formed of the earth, but of the two it is the pure white stone of the statue that is more valuable. Human flesh, like the wheat of the field is grown and raised every year and in every age; sometimes in more abundance than we can maintain. But the likes of this stone will not likely be seen a
gain, not until the foundations of the world are overturned.'

  'Perhaps the difference is not in what they are formed out of, but rather what they are formed into. The stone lies still and dead while the girl lives and breathes.' Biron suggested.

  'I have considered that as well, my friend,' Ponteris sighed. 'But so it is with fire, which moves and breathes and grows, yet I see no man saving and preserving it any further than it is useful to his own needs. And there are many living creatures that would offer us the same dilemma. You wouldn't smash one of the world's greatest works of art if it were it the life of a squirrel or a hare that was in danger, would you?'

  Biron walked back to the table and sat down. 'I suppose not,' he answered wearily.

  'But why not? That is what I am trying to figure out. Why save the girl and not a squirrel? It seems to me that the only reason to smash the sculpture would be out of sympathy.'

  'You are not now going to belittle sympathy, are you my friend?' Biron said with a mock grin. The truth of the matter is that he was quite disgusted with the man and was almost hoping that he would go too far, and say something that would give him the excuse to sever all ties of friendship with Cheftan Ponteris Oastirne.

  'I cannot belittle it, because I cannot quite understand it.'

  Biron laughed, 'So you admit it? You have no sympathy. Cheft Ponteris, there has never been a more honest man, not in Noras nor in any other place in Weldera.'

  'I do not understand it,' Ponteris said, ignoring Biron's words, 'not because I do not feel it, but because I do not understand why a rational creature needs it. Certainly it serves the goblins well enough, so that they care for and protect each other instead of robbing and slaying their kin. But we are ruled with mind, not might, and sympathy as often misleads us as it serves us.

  'Some time ago an old beggar man appeared on our doorstep clad in torn and weathered brown with naught but a strand of rope for a belt. It must have been at least ten years ago. He knocked on the door quietly with what looked to my eyes to be the staff of a shepherd. He politely asked if he could have a place to sleep for the night. He asked for my leave to sleep in the barn, and I would have obliged him were it not for Lady Linae who insisted on giving him one of our guest chambers.

  'He stayed in our home for one night; just one night and no more. In fact, when the day dawned he was nowhere to be found. He left sometime before the first light without so much as a thank you. All that he left in return for our hospitality was mice.'

  'Mice?' Biron asked interestedly.

  'Yes, Mice,' Ponteris answered with a look of disgust in his eyes. 'But my dear Cheftan, you must realize that these were no Noras mice! Their teeth were like razors and they multiplied quicker than hares. Before we knew it the entire house was nearly overrun by vermin. We went through great pains to drive them from the main hall. Now they only remain in the cellars where they are so deeply burrowed that Pelas himself could not drive them out. That is what comes of sympathy! But we have since mended our ways.'

  'So am I to understand that you would leave an old beggar out in the winter cold because he might carry mice with him?' Biron asked.

  'That is not what I am saying. I may very well give in and allow the dirty beggar to stay, but I do it out of sentiment and not out of wisdom. But sentiment leads us astray as often as it leads us aright, as I have already said.

  'There was a young servant girl who lived on my estate, many years ago. She broke the laws of the household and was one day found to be carrying a child in her womb.' Biron sat up and listened intently.

  'When her time came upon her she gave birth to a little boy, if it is right to call it a boy. For the child was a monster. Two heads it had, and three arms; one on each side and another coming from the middle of it's chest. I shudder to even recall the sight.'

  By Pelas!' Biron whispered. 'What became of the child?'

  'It perished in the wilds, long ago. At my command, the baby was to be taken and burned with fire, lest the gods curse us with further trials. The woman was ransomed for thirty ewe-lambs as the priest of Lavrila instructed us. But she would accept no pardon and stole off in the middle of the night with the child and wandered off alone into the woods toward Galva-la. She stole the child right off of the altar; he was taken right out of the flaming coals.

  'We searched long and hard for her, but in the end her body was found naked, starved and drowned on the shores of the Yilnir River. The beast's swaddling clothes were discovered many miles downstream. By this we knew that he had also met his doom in the waters. Saved from fire to perish in water; so senseless.

  'Sympathy it was that drove this beautiful maiden to madness. Reason dictates that nothing but sorrow and pain can come of a child so afflicted by the gods. But sympathy for the cursed fruit of her womb drove her to cast off the rational woman and take up the mantle of a lunatic.

  'Her sympathy cost her both her child and her life together. Better it would have been for her to do as the gods require and burn up the fallen seed in flames.'

  Biron was silent for a several minutes and just sort of wandered around the room, lost in thought. After a long while he sat down again and spoke, 'This little girl that you almost struck along the road,' he said, returning the conversation to the former subject.

  'Yes,' Ponteris responded.

  'How do you know she was not beloved of the gods?'

  'What do you mean? She was only a peasant.'

  'But so was Galvahir, when he took up his sword and vanquished the darkness. And so were your own ancestors who wandered into this forest hungry and naked. Was Oastir a hero already when in a burlap shirt he marched to the aid of the Silvirne King? You cannot know whom the gods will make noble; or whom the gods will choose to sit upon a throne and rule over their peers. You may have struck a queen on that road; you know not who she might become. Therein lies the answer, my friend. For the gods have little use for statues and precious white stones, whose mansions are built with gold and silver and every precious gemstone. But there will only ever be one Galvahir and one Oastir. And had they so lightly been struck down in their youth, there would be only seven clans in Noras and certainly no Cheftan Biron Galvahirne and no Cheftan Ponteris Oastirne.'

  Cheft Biron got up and walked to the door. 'You cannot know the councils of the gods,' he said. He left the room and shut the door loudly behind him.

  The two had many such conversations. Until at last Biron took to avoiding Ponteris and hoping only to see him at the Council. And after that, hoping to see him not at all.

  The Noras Council

  About a month after Cheft Biron's arrival, the other Cheftans arrived and many councils were held. All the while Cheft Biron's servants were kept busy feeding and cleaning up after the many important guests. Lady Marima worked as hard as any, though she was still quite weak from her sickness. Cheft Biron urged her to rest, but she would not listen to him.

  'Shall I lay in bed forever, my lord? And allow the house to be run by servants?' She asked him when he had pressed her hard.

  'My only desire is to see you well rested and in your full strength,' the Cheftan explained. 'It would pain me so much to see you fall ill again.'

  'I will take care, my lord, but I will still work. While our sons march in distant lands under gray skies and over frozen streams I will not lay idle. If what strength and diligence I have can aid your councils and thereby aid our sons, then I will be glad, though my last breath be spent scrubbing the stone kitchen floors.'

  'My lady,' Cheft Biron said in a desperate voice, 'Let the servants scrub, there is still plenty for the Lady of Peiraso to occupy herself with!'

  For the better part of two weeks the Cheftans remained in Peiraso, meeting in a council every evening and discussing the threat of goblins. Though he was still not quite certain, Cheft Biron was beginning to apprehend the cause of his troubled spirit. In many times past the Galvahirne had borne the brunt of conflict, whether it be the wars against the Daevaron in the east or against the goblins
in the western mountains. It was no surprise to the Cheftan of Peiraso that the Galva Council was so ready to take the lead and march to war with the goblin raiders. But what did strike him as out of place was the ingratitude of his fellow Cheftans. It was almost as though they thought all the efforts and sufferings of the Galvahirne were displays of pride and greediness, rather than courage and loyalty. He felt their resentment even as they sat down to eat the meals his cooks had provided for them. 'What devil could breed such envy among so many wise men?'

  On the morning of the twenty-eighth day of Frohest Cheft Biron gathered the Cheftans from every part of Noras in his Council Hall at Peiraso.

  'Greetings fellow Cheftans of Noras!' Biron's voice boomed through the hall.

  The others responded in near unison, 'Hail Cheft Biron, lord of Peiraso.'

  The Council Hall was the largest room in Peiraso. It had a tall arched ceiling held up with large wooden pillars. Each pillar was painted with a deep reddish brown color and was carved with letters and images recounting the history of the Galvahirne. The walls were built of dark logs and overhung with the pelts, teeth and horns of many different creatures. Cheft Biron was seated at the western edge of the Hall, clothed in his finest with a fur cape hung across his shoulders. Light came down in thick beams and struck the large wooden table in the center of the room around which the Cheftans were seated.

  'I pray a blessing from Lord Pelas on the heads of all who love and honor Noras. For that is our business; it is for love of Noras that we gather, and I pray that in our gathering and in our councils we will be led to honor our beloved homeland.'

  There was some scattered applause and some words of approval. Then the Council began.

  As the Cheftans spoke, one after another in turn, Cheft Biron began to perceive a certain reluctance among many of them to even discuss the goblins and the march of the Galva Army.

  'The purpose of this council is the war, my fellows,' Biron reminded them. But it was of little avail; Cheft Ponteris reproved him.