Red World Trilogy

by V. A. Jeffrey

  “It is late. Who is at the door?” Rasped a voice from the balcony. Demos stepped back and looked up. He made a show of being on official business.

  “Master, you have forgotten something at the temple! I have brought it for you. May I come in? It is I, your scribal student!” He did not want to reveal too much. Ears were everywhere these days and especially at night. The old man peered down from his balcony.

  “Please, Master!” Demos insisted. Eliaz frowned but consented.

  “I shall come down.” After some time Demos heard Eliaz come to the door. He opened it and Demos slipped in.

  “Demos! I know you would not have come if this was not important.” Eliaz shut the door firmly behind him.

  “No, I would not! Master! Shishak and Teman are planning something most foul! You know the temple tax was raised some months ago?”

  “Of course.”

  “Shishak came to me today and had me write a letter for him. A forgery.”

  “Not unusual from Shishak.”

  “But listen! He wrote a letter supposedly from the king and he had a forged seal that he put upon it. It looks exactly like the one the king gave to Bakku. I know it is not the real one because I saw Bakku leave the city and he was wearing it on his finger. In this letter, it gives the captain of the King's Guard the authority to arrest those who cannot pay the temple tax and throw them into the arenas for execution!” Demos spit out in a panic. Even in the dim candle light he could see Eliaz's face turn as white as bleached paper. He stumbled and Demos had to catch him and help him sit down.

  “Oh Lord in the heavens! Do you mean he had this letter sent out today?”

  “I do not know when he will send it but I am sure it will be within the week, before the king arrives! They also bribed the captain of the King's Guard, from what I learned and then brought the arena master to the temple this night and payed him a small fortune in gold and silver to put them in the arena prisons!” Demos sat down, waiting on Eliaz for some instruction. Eliaz put his head in his hands.

  “Of all the faithful not allowed in, they would bring an outsider into the temple of God! And now this treachery! Demos, my son, for the first time I am not sure what to do. It would seem we have been outsmarted!” Eliaz mourned. He looked stricken.

  “Do they know about us, Master? They. . .” Demos started but Eliaz shook his head. Demos pulled out the papers from his robe.

  “I have made copies of all the families, the names of the people to be thrown to the lions or the dogs in the arenas. Men, women and children, old and young, it does not matter. It will be for the entertainment for the new wedding celebration. Master Eliaz, we must do something and soon!” Demos pleaded. Eliaz suddenly sat up.

  “Demos! You are young! Do you know some of them? Some of these people, where they live?”

  “Only a few.”

  “Go to them, Demos, now! Tell them of this. Now that I think on it, I know of someone that might be able to help. It will be very dangerous but there is hope. We shall see.”

  “Your falcon, Master! Can you use him?”

  “It will attract attention. I shall use a different messenger. Go and do what you can!” He gave Demos a hooded black cloak to hide his face. Demos left immediately to alert the few families he knew personally, hoping this rescue effort would stay under cover of darkness. He also hoped he would not encounter patrolling city guards.

  Eliaz said a prayer, weeping profusely, then he steeled himself. If only Ilim were here, but he had to find his own courage. He could not hide behind Ilim's skirts any longer. Not if he would save these people from certain death. It was for this reason, he told himself, that I stayed with the temple. Even through all the excesses and evil doings of the priesthood. Not just because he was afraid to leave the comfort and familiarity of the community but because he had to save the Aishanna-La from their own priesthood. Wolves! Besides, where else could a man go if not the Golden Temple? If a man were cast out of the temple like Ilim. . . he shuddered to think of such a desperate existence. Eliaz ambled over to his writing desk and took out a reed pen, a bottle of ink, some water and a roll of paper. He also took out a small, gold metal bird with gold-laced wings and set it carefully on the desk before him.

  “You must fly, my little forbidden friend.” The new woman had not yet arrived. There was still the true queen, though she was now officially deposed, who still held some sway among the people, if not at court. He would appeal to her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  They reached the port of Kukuma in Murka in total, ten days, after being out on the stormy sea. The storm had followed them from the Gaspa all the way into the South Ocean and did not abate until they reached the Dakanar Sea, off the northern coast of Jura.

  Murka was every bit as large and busy as Yallas-by-the-Sea but instead of the vibrant colors of the houses and buildings these here were bright, white stone houses or brown, mud brick houses and there were many dwellings that were round.

  They had not eaten for three days, feeling too ill. The crew gave Mother Berenice kisses of respect but also out of gratefulness and affection for her as they de-boarded. They also offered what little food or goods they had of which the scions and Mother Berenice would not accept but the passengers insisted and they finally relented. Mother Berenice kissed the baby and blessed him and the young mother. The woman wept, overcome with emotion and for the first time since they had all set off aboard the baby smiled and gurgled.

  “May the gods grant you good fortune, sister.” The passengers would say.

  “Thank you, my sister. For our very lives!” Or

  “May the gods keep you, sisters.” Of which they were all grateful and Mother Berenice would bow and smile and say:

  “Go forward with God's blessing.” Climbing on to firm ground again, they were unsteady and Anet felt dizzy. The sun was even hotter and brighter in this land than the one they'd left. Great hangings of the House of Juta fluttered boldly in their orange and black colors with yaryebu symbols on nearly every major building and everywhere she could smell delicious foods being cooked. There was the broad and scintillating smell of fresh bread baking in a communal oven nearby. All these scents mingled with the scent of raw fish and the salt sea which weaved together the suggestion of an imaginary feast fit for a king in Anet's mind. The rows upon rows of great ships stood like sentinels along the dock and workers toiled to and fro over the walkways carrying great loads of goods on their heads or herding cattle and other animals from the larger ships and into the port. One ship in particular caught her attention. It was a great ship, far bigger than any ship in the port. It was also the farthest away. It was a massive golden ship with sails that seemed to be made of delicate silver spiderwebs. They flew in the slight breeze like diaphanous, delicate sheets and in the sunlight at times seemed to disappear from the eye's view so that it seemed a great fantastical thing out of dreams, floating in and out of sea mists, though it was a bright and clear day. Anet tried to call to the others to show them this wonderful ship but when she had turned back to look for it again it was gone. After what seemed like forever they finally left the docks. They followed Mother Berenice down the streets, passing by a market, one of many in Murka. The women were dressed in their bright flower-like wraparound dresses. They looked like birds of paradise with their great head wraps of red, orange, yellow or green and some wore white head wraps with gold or silver chains if they were wealthy. The men wore their pants and shammas made of brilliant colors. In Hybron only the wealthiest people could afford to wear such brilliant colors and even only the wealthiest of the wealthy could afford to wear blue, the rarest color. There was not much blue here but red, green, white, yellow, orange, and many tints and shades in-between.

  Anet noticed that some only wore bright white linen or cotton, both men and women. There were camels everywhere in the city and zebras imported from further south. Anet was fascinated with these black and white horse-like creatures. She had only seen drawings of them in books. Murka was a
city of contrasts. The clothes were colorful and the dwellings were smooth, simplicity - sunbaked mud brick houses with wooden poles. Most of the residences were long, one story dwellings. Some, especially those of the wealthier inhabitants or the royal buildings were three or four story buildings. The doors, Anet noted, stood out among the simplicity of the houses. The doors were of heavy wood and depending on the status or wealth of the family would be elaborately carved, even with myths and family legends on them and inlaid with precious stone, bone, gold, silver or copper. Or if it was the home of a government official that would be evident with the symbol of the king of Jura, of the royal yaryebu. The rich also had door-knockers of engraved gold, silver or electrum fastened to the door. There was a saying in Murka:“Do not judge a house by its door.” Yet, this also signified to those entering who had wealth and prominence – or aspired to it - and who did not. To Anet it was all a marvelous sight. They passed by many stalls which stoked the fires of hunger. Anet's legs felt like heavy logs and Kaisha was complaining of hunger. She was three years older than Anet's ten years but Anet swore sometimes she behaved like a three year old. After all, everyone was becoming hungry, the bad voyage now a memory. Mother Berenice, even in her fatigue was unwilling to stop and rest until she'd found a suitable inn.

  The inn she had settled on had the sign of a star and a dot within which signaled the inn keeper was one of the Aishanna-La. The door was carved with pictographs of a man and woman and there was a simple script in iron fastened to the door: Yar-Airun.

  The Jurite name for God.

  “Our people are in this place?” Asked Kaisha. Anet frowned.

  “Of course, Kaisha! Do not be stupid. Do you not remember our lessons?”

  “I am not stupid! Do not call me that!”

  “The faithful dispersed to all parts of the world. . .”

  “I know our lessons, Anet!” Now Kaisha was angry but Anet did not care as long as she was quiet. Kaisha talked too much sometimes and it was usually of some handsome, imaginary swordsman or lord who would come and marry her. Mother Berenice gave them a sharp warning look and that was the end of it. The inn was small but clean with only a few patrons at the tables sipping beer. They had to step down into a recessed floor. Inside was slightly cooler, a welcome respite from the merciless heat. The innkeeper, an unassuming, short, black man who was lugging in a large amphora of honey beer looked up at them in surprise and then in recognition, seeing their gray tunics and robes.

  “Yamma!”

  “Yamma! Greetings, my brother!” Said Iddina. The man laughed, happy to see them.

  “Sisters, welcome! How is it you have come so far?”

  “Thank you, my brother! I am Berenice. Our journey here is a long story but we've had to come far out of the way to avoid trouble. Do you have some lodging for us? Until we can procure some way to get to Hybron?” Asked Mother Berenice.

  “I do indeed! Do not worry about money. Any scion of the citadel stays here for free. Come, let me show you where we have available lodging.” He said. As it turned out, there was a small room available for the eldest scions along with Mother Berenice to stay in. The rest of them had to sleep in the stable out back but there was an upstairs loft there, which was comfortable enough for ship- worn guests. He had a manservant put in new straw and had large tin bath tubs brought in and filled with fresh water for which they were very glad and took turns washing. Anet and Kaisha being among the youngest were last to bathe but even so, they were grateful for it. Sitting in her sleeveless shift after they had all washed up, Anet dunked her veils and robes in the water, cleaned them and hung them on a ledge. It was so hot that she was sure they would dry within a few moments. She lay back on her pallet and listened to the sounds outside. The language, Ulu, was not completely foreign to her as she'd heard it before but she could not speak it. There were plenty of Jurite people in Hybron, travelers, merchants or those married into Hybronian families but she had never been to Jura. She glanced out the window outside as Kaisha followed her lead and washed her own clothes. The other sisters were now fast asleep, worn out from the long and troublesome voyage. In the distance, nearly like a dream she could see monuments of gods and goddesses and pyramid-shaped temples just outside the city. Smaller than the ones in Egi. She had seen drawings and paintings of those at the citadel library and they were lovely just the same. These buildings far off were white as fine bleached linen and even farther in the distance out in the desert she thought she saw a rounded pyramid, a mountain-like temple with a gleaming top of what looked like electrum. It seemed there were two creatures holding up a great arch over its doorway. It reminded her of the painted walls and sculptures she saw at the palace in Jhis, except in Jhis lions were the king's royal symbol. These looked like the god-elephanta she'd heard of. She wanted to see these stone elephanta up close, or real ones, better yet. She'd seen the elephanta of the deep southern kingdoms only once, a royal tribute to the king in Hybron and they were sights to behold with their palaces on top of their backs and the king and queen sitting in them, black and shining as polished ebony and covered in gold.

  Kaisha brought out a small tin and turned to Anet.

  “Anet, please rub this on.” This was a ritual Kaisha engaged in faithfully so that she would not burn. Anet obliged and rubbed it on her back and arms. Anet thought of the many lands she'd read about, like the lands of the great steppes, far east. Kaisha's people came from there. They were fairer than she was, not bronze or olive like most Hybronians or the wild tribes in Hybron but not as fair as Helga. Kaisha had dark brown hair. Like her, Kaisha was an orphan. Anet still remembered the conversation between older sisters, one not made for her ears.

  Kaisha's mother was a village girl kidnapped by raiders and raped by her captors. They traveled west along the trade route between the East and Egi. The girl escaped and was found by a scion of the citadel and taken to the citadel to stay until she gave birth. Unfortunately, the girl died in childbirth. No one could save her. Before dying she asked the scions to name the baby girl Kaisha, after the girl's mother. She was buried in a plot outside the citadel and Kaisha was raised by the scions. So many scions had such sad and dismal pasts. Anet wondered what would be their fates, all of them. Would she be a desert mother? An emissary or envoy of the citadel? Would she remain a scion and eventually become Mother of the citadel? Or would she eventually become a lord's wife with children of her own? There were different paths a girl raised by the scions could take if she were an orphan. It all depended upon the girl. Anet was told many times how fortunate she was. Most girls did not have any choice outside of the citadel. They were married off as soon as they started to bleed and in rare cases they were offered to a temple to become a priestess or a slave. Only the sun worshiping peoples had more freedom. Their women could even become arena fighters. But Anet did not want to fight ferocious animals unless she had a star sword. And star swords no longer existed. Only in legends did one hear about them. Most men that did fight in the arenas died horribly. She did not want to think of what happened to the women in the arenas of the cruel sun god, who loved blood and war and glory above all things. She thought that he must be especially powerful here because it was even hotter in this land than it was back home.

  “Ow, Anet! Watch what you're doing!” Complained Kaisha. Anet giggled nervously.

  “What's funny?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me!”

  “I was wondering if Hec was even stronger here than back home.”

  “Hec is strong everywhere there is war or fighting. He loves that, Anetji.” Anet frowned.

  “I am not little anymore. Do not call me that.”

  “Do not call you what? Anetji?” Kaisha teased.

  “If you call me that again I am going to throw your precious salve out the window and you can burn under sun on the way back!”

  “Fine. But I am still older, you know.”

  “I wonder if they have arenas here.” Anet said to change the subject.
>
  “Why? Those places are hellish! I heard that once they held games so bloody that the whole arena floor was awash in blood until there was a sea of blood and then the king floated ships on it and they had a ship battle on the blood sea!”

  “I don't know about the ships but I am sure there was the sea of blood. Once I saw it, the last time we were allowed into the city, before the Ainash threatened to kill us. And the whole city stank for all that blood!”

  “Jhis always stinks.”

  “I know.”

  “And I hate the Ainash!” Grumbled Kaisha.

  “Me too!”

  “What are you going to do when you get your blood, Anet?” Anet opened her mouth than closed it. She was still unsure. Kaisha turned around and looked at her, smelling like shea butter and olive oil. Anet sat back and frowned in thought.

  “I don't know. Maybe a desert prophetess?” Kaisha's face was wide in wonderment at this.

  “Only the most special people can be desert mothers, Anet, because no one has the gift. God does not bestow them upon the people anymore. None of us are good enough for that. Not even you!”

  “Fine! I want to travel and see the world and I want to help people.”

  “It sounds like you will be an emissary. That would be good for you. I am going to get married and have lots of babies.”

  “Will you marry a lord, a scribe or a satrap?”