“I’m not going to look for Janis, Keiran, and if you want us to remain friends you’ll do the same,” replied Chtomio.
“Who said anything about Janis? They are on the northern side of Samaris. We’re going south.”
“What exactly do you have in mind, Keiran?” asked Chtomio.
“What’s the most precious thing you have?” asked Keiran and, without waiting for an answer, he continued, “I’ll tell you what’s mine. It’s freedom. Freedom to do as I please. Freedom to roam the territories. To sleep wherever and whenever I choose. To befriend whoever I choose…”
“Your freedom has a price,” said Chtomio shaking his head.
“Staying in Samaris has a bigger price,” rebutted Keiran. “A price that is too high for me to pay. Or do you think that killing a Janis is something worth doing?”
“What are you saying?” asked Chtomio.
“I am saying that this Janis thing is the last straw. I will no longer be part of this sick kingdom.”
Chtomio had learned to take his friend seriously and this time was no exception. “So, this is your plan? Turning your back on your nation?”
“It is not I that have turned my back, but the Red Kingdom that has turned its back on me,” he growled.
Chtomio mulled this over. “As a Prince, I have more to lose.” He said, thoughtfully. “Where would you go?”
“I told you. I… we… will go south,” he said.
“South…” Chtomio repeated. Then he continued, “Do you have any idea what the other territories are like?”
“Nope. Do you?” Keiran cocked his head, waiting for an answer.
“Of course, I do!” snapped Chtomio. “The Violets are to the south. They’re completely mad. They live like insects, with houses like cocoons attached to ropes. To the north, my father has told me that the Orange don’t allow males to live with them and the Yellow don’t allow females. The Greens are thieves that live like wild animals and the Blues don’t accept outsiders, even those they trade with. That leaves the Blacks, who have been our enemies since the dawn of time. Outside of Samaris, they’re all barbarians, Keiran.”
“No, Chtomio, we Reds are the barbarians. We are the ones that are about to kill our own, not them.”
“I can’t allow you to go,” Chtomio said. “I need you here with me. When my time comes to rule, you will be my trusted minister. Together, we will change things, Keiran. I promise!”
“Some things never change, Chtomio. You know it and I know it. I am not going back.”
“Fine!” said Chtomio angrily. “Leave then! If running away is how you live your life, then so be it. But I will not leave my kingdom.” He thumped his chest, “” will not leave my city. I shall go back and change what needs to be changed. Tonight, I shall warn the Janis. Then I shall face the consequences, like a true Ashi.”
“Spoken like a king…” Keiran stepped closer, clasped Chtomio’s arm and added, “But not my king. Goodbye, my friend. I will miss you.”
Chtomio was at a loss for words. Then, he finally managed to say, “You’re really doing this, aren’t you?”
Keiran nodded. Chtomio nodded too. He knew his friend too well to try and convince him to change his mind. So, the only words he managed to say were: “Goodbye, Keiran.”
42. An Oath
Sybilla made the final leg of her journey alone, carefully picking her way down to the bottom of the gorge, as was expected of her. Although night had fallen, she wasn’t afraid. Fear was something that she learned to conquer early on in Crodya. The Orange female chromes were afraid of no one and they were certainly the best archers in the territories — even better than the Yellow chromes. While walking, she caressed the soft suede bottom of her quiver in which her bow and arrows were placed.
The air was crisp and the flame from her torch danced and whirled in the darkness.
Even though the previous seer had been buried in Crodya many nights before, Sybilla still felt her presence amidst the silent rocks.
She had only seen her once when she was alive. She had come to the Orange city on the occasion of the burial of the previous Nara, the lead guiding sister. She was already old then, while Sybilla had only seen seven solstices. She carried a long wooden staff and several necklaces of heavy dangling jewels which were draped around her neck. More precious stones adorned her robes. They looked so heavy, young Sybilla assumed they were the reason for her curved back.
When the old Seer entered the copper domed palace of Crodya and removed her mask, her face reminded Sybilla of an aged wooden trunk – lined, burnished and worn after decades of a life spent under the harsh sun, wandering around in the desert’s dust.
“Sisters of Crodya!” The Seer thundered, despite her feeble appearance, “I have come here specially to give a final salute to a devoted friend, and to give you words of hope and goodwill! Like the Orange rocks that roll upon the earth, we are in constant motion, moved by the will of the gods!”
“What does she mean?” Sybilla whispered to an older sister, named Aula.
“Shh!” the other hissed.
“The Orange aspire to be one with the sun, but too much light can burn you, while too little light can weaken you!”
Sybilla pulled the sleeve of her companion sister once more: “I don’t understand! What is she talking about?”
The other sister told her: “You’ll learn to appreciate these words of wisdom as you grow older, now shush!”
But as Sybilla grew up, she did not cherish these pearls of wisdom. Instead, she began to think that the more vague and pointless the Seer’s phrases, the more the sisters seemed to be in awe of the wizened female chrome who spoke them. And so began her great deceit. Sybilla amused herself by speaking to everyone in the same cryptic way as the Seer, through riddles, proverbs and sayings. This way, she felt, the other sisters would respect her, regardless of her age.
‘Sybilla, want to come and play with us?’ her friends would ask, to which she’d reply, “Life is just a game, but a game that needs to be played.”
An older sister would say: ‘Sybilla, go and milk the cows.’ and she would respond, “I see in the whiteness of their milk the purity of my own conscience.”
At first, all the sisters thought she had gone mad, but by the time she’d aged thirteen solstices, she had become so good at these cryptic statements, no one dared mock her any longer. What started as a game had evolved into something much bigger. So much so, that she dared not reveal to anyone that it was one giant lie. What would happen to her if the other sisters ever found out? They would have surely punished her, perhaps even exiled her from Crodya for life.
And then, when her fourteenth solstice arrived, a series of events came together in a moment of great serendipity – freeing her from the torment of her secret conflict: she vowed to herself that she would become the next Seer!
It was during this auspicious year that, together with the other sisters her age, Sybilla was summoned to the birthing hall where the older sisters were delivering their infants. The hall was clean and sunlit and the sisters were well attended by sisters trained in the art of the midwife. The pregnant Orange Sisters were given a sweet fruits that dulled their pain. Other sisters kept a supply of fresh, boiled linens at the ready.
As she entered the place, the first thing Sybilla heard was an uncanny scream. “Ah, good, we have arrived just in time,” said the sister who accompanied them. “One of the sisters is delivering. Come, you’ll see with your own eyes the beauty of a new life entering our territory.”
And Sybilla indeed saw… But despite all the precautions taken, she still thought it was an awful spectacle; the blood, the pain, the cries. She was shocked. While the sisters chattered with each other as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, she made another important decision: she would never be crazy enough to let a Yellow male chrome come near her, or even set one leering eye on her. But how could she make sure that no one forced her to do the pygma? Again, there was only one solution: be
come the next Seer.
Now it was as if everything else that once made up the puzzle of her future fell into place. “Of course!” she thought, “It is the gods that have wanted this all along for me! It wasn’t my will, it was their will!”
When her sixteenth solstice arrived, no one had any doubt that she would indeed become the Seer. In fact, the elder sisters began visiting her in secret, at night, to ask for a glimpse into their future. She did not disappoint them.
“Thaurinaaa,” she would intone in a mysterious sing-song voice, “something Yellow your way comes.”
“Ohh! Is it a Yellow brother? Tell me it’s a brother!”
“It is not a Yellow chrome, but a Yellow moon. Be prepared to give yourself to the moon, Thaurina, and perhaps a Yellow chrome will follow.”
Or: “Peduuuuulllllay, riches abound from a hole in the ground.” Was it a prediction of finding buried treasures, or a warning to work harder in the garden? Conveniently, none could say.
“Thank you Sybilla, thank you!” The sisters gushed at the end of each prognostication, kissing her hand. Even sisters who had formerly bullied her because they were older, or who treated her with indifference bowed to her with respect! She smiled at the thought. In the end, she wasn’t hurting anyone with her words and if she could make her fellow sisters feel better, why not do so?
In no time at all, she utterly convinced herself that if someone had to dispense little harmless lies, she was the perfect sister to do so, because she promised herself that she would never take real advantage of any of them. Would another have been so unselfish and considerate? No, she thought smugly, they would not.
Finally, after her long journey into the chasm, Sybilla reached a huge, sandstone wall. An imposing façade, depicting the divine destiny of the Seer, was carved upon it. She also discovered that this solid rock face was the entrance to the ancient temple. It was said that the Orange goddesses themselves had chiseled the façade into the rock for the mortal sisters to worship. Four pillars supported the entrance. On top of them, the statues of the three main Orange goddesses were sculpted directly into the rock: Ramtha, Goddess of Light, Uni, Goddess of Knowledge, and Thana, Goddess of Beauty. Above these three statues, the cliff rose vertically, but she could not see the top in the darkness.
Sybilla returned her gaze to the entrance. She walked up to the pillars but hesitated before entering. A draft of cold air wafted from inside, kissing her shoulders. Sybilla felt a shiver run through her.
“This is my fate,” she reminded herself. She held her head high and walked inside.
There were many torches on the walls. She pulled a flint from her pocket and lit them all. In the soothing firelight, she discovered that the temple’s interior was nothing like the outside. The walls had been decorated with plaques made of copper and there were also precious stones faceted into them which bathed the temple with a magical, colorful aura with the help of the torchlight.
Amazing! she thought.
She set her cloak and quiver down in one corner and then, exhausted, sat down with her back against the wall. She took off her heavy, spessartine mask and exclaimed out loud: “Finally! Freedom at last.”
43. To The North
After parting with Keiran, Chtomio quickly made his way back to the gates of Samaris. The gatekeepers had made a bonfire and he could see that one of the other cadets had already returned with a macabre prize.
The corpse of a chrome was lying on the ground near the fire. The young cadet was feasting and chanting over him with his sword still covered with his victim’s blood.
“Oris!” said the captain to the cadet, “You are the first to take the oath of blood for your city! Congratulations!”
As he approached them, Chtomio saw that the victim was bony and thin. He recognized the mask made of straw, which was typical of a Janis. An elderly, malnourished chrome murdered for sport, thought Chtomio. This is what our king wants? What my father wants? He asked himself. Then, as he approached the cadet and the captain, he said: “The brands on our shoulders should not be the symbol of the Ashis, but the mark of assassins.”
The captain looked at him and bitterly replied: “I would have expected the heir to the throne to set an example for the other cadets, but instead I see you have come back empty handed. Your father will not be pleased.”
“He’s too scared to do it!” cried Oris with ill concealed pride, “He doesn’t have the guts to slay the enemy, like I do!”
“You’re right Oris,” said Chtomio walking up to him, while dragging his sword on the ground. It made an eerie noise. “I don’t have the guts to kill an innocent, but I do have the courage to kill an Ashi!”
Oris stiffened. “Chtomio, you wouldn’t!”
“Enough, Chtomio!” shouted the captain. “The night is still young. You have all the time you need to find a Janis and bring his body back here.”
“An elder,” mumbled Chtomio looking down at the corpse in front of them. “It’s barbaric.” Suddenly Keiran’s words took on a new meaning. The temptation to run away and follow his friend into the Violet territory was strong. “But I will not abandon my subjects to these fools!” He said to himself.
“What are you waiting for?” cried the captain. “The Janis will all be hiding by now and hunting them down will be harder!”
Chtomio looked at him and then at Oris. He wanted to kill them both and he raised his sword. But the captain took this as a sign of ascent. “That’s the spirit! Now go!” He said. Chtomio left them and disappeared into the darkness.
He ran as fast as he could. He didn’t care where he was going — he only yearned to outdistance the sour taste in his mouth and the disgust flooding his heart.
Chtomio finally stopped near a tree and gasped for air. The imposing, torch-lit walls of Samaris were far away to his right. In the distance, he could also see feeble moving lights heading toward the village of the Janis. Soon, there would be screams, he was sure of that. For the first time in his life, he felt shame; shame of being the heir to the throne, shame of being an Ashi, shame of being a Red. He wanted to cry but he couldn’t. His anger was stronger than tears.
He looked up at the black sky. Even the moon had hidden itself to avoid witnessing the horrors about to be committed. Suddenly, he heard someone running in his direction. He had been so still, that in the darkness, the chrome must have mistaken him as part of the tree. He watched the chrome crawling on the ground, slowly, like a snail, trying not to be seen. Farther away, he could see a lantern, and he realized that an Ashi was hunting down this particular Janis. He recognized the hunter: a normally mild Ashi named Ur.
“Aahh!” yelled the Janis, hitting Chtomio’s feet. Moments later, Ur ran up and raised his lantern high, lighting up all of them.
“Chtomio!” he cried, surprised.
“Ur,” said Chtomio, coldly. They stood in front of each other while the Janis continued to sob. Then she screamed, “What have I done to you? Leave me alone!”
Only then did Chtomio realize that the Janis was a female, and that she was pregnant. That perfidious Ur was looking for an easy way to impress the captain, like his friend Oris.
“Chtomio, I saw her first…” said Ur, “She’s mine!”
There was nothing like this display of cowardly arrogance to set Chtomio’s blood boiling. “Well, too bad. Now she’s mine, Ur.”
“But… Chtomio… I found her first!” It was more of a squeak than a protest, for Ur was half the size of Chtomio and the Red prince was fully conscious of this.
“Do you want to fight over her?” declared Chtomio raising his voice.
Ur instinctively backed away from him. “No, I guess you had her first.”
“Yes,” replied Chtomio, “Now leave!”
Ur faded into the darkness, scurrying away in such haste; he left his lantern hanging on a branch. Chtomio picked it up and moved it closer to the Janis. He saw that she wore an ugly round mud mask, which had been knocked halfway off her face. Chtomio also noticed sh
e was as much enraged as she was terrified.
“You! You are a villain! Truly the spawn of your evil father!”
“Come on, get up,” Chtomio said, lending her a hand. The Janis backed away from him. “Get up!” he cried again, “Or do you want to stay in the dirt all night?”
“Get away from me! Leave me alone!” the Janis spat.
On any other night, Chtomio would have gladly left her to her destiny, but he had made a vow to help. How many other Ashis were out there looking for a helpless Janis to kill? He felt ashamed of belonging to such an awful caste.
“Look, you can’t stay here. It’s not safe for you.”
“Then kill me!” she taunted him.
“I don’t want to kill you! I don’t want to kill anyone!”
The Janis Chrome seemed taken aback by Chtomio’s confession.
Couching his words in a soothing tone, he asked for her name.
“Adina, in honor of our beloved goddess,” she said. “Though I wonder why the gods are displeased by my caste, to let such cruelty be visited upon us.”
“The gods have nothing to do with this, Adina,” Chtomio replied. “It’s only chromes who should be blamed for this wicked night.”
Chtomio reached out his hand to her, once again. This time, she took it and rose to her feet.
“I can take you north,” he said, surprising himself. “Let me take you where the Orange are, so you can start a new life.” For a moment, he wasn’t sure whether he was talking about Adina or himself. He wasn’t even sure the Orange would take her. She was, after all, a Red chrome, and a Janis at that.
While Adina straightened her mask, Chtomio noticed that she was far along in her pregnancy.
“You, the prince, would take me to another nation? Why would you do this?”
“Because I’ve had enough of this kingdom!” He wanted to say; instead he replied, “Because you are carrying an infant.”
He took her firmly by the arm and said: “Let’s go.” However, he had never dealt with a pregnant chrome before and only now did he begin to realize what it might mean for females to carry an infant inside their wombs while undergoing what would be a stressful and hard journey. Adina walked slowly and they had to make frequent stops. Chtomio urged her to move faster, but it was like wrangling a snail. It would have taken all night and then some to flee from the Red Kingdom.
The Seer Page 4
