“Rot in hell,” Skylan said through gritted teeth.
Zahakis shrugged and walked off, motioning his soldiers to come with him.
The priests hauled Wulfe to the carriages. The boy had gone limp in their grasp and Skylan wondered if he’d passed out from fear. Raegar cast a lingering look at Aylaen, who turned away. Raegar went back to the carriages. He would not permit Wulfe to be taken into the carriage, but ordered the priests to walk back to the Temple. The carriages rolled off, the soldiers walking on either side. The priests with Wulfe between them trailed behind.
The pain in Skylan’s arm eased. Aelon had decided he’d been punished enough apparently. Skylan walked on shaking legs toward the Venjekar, which remained on the wheeled conveyance. He felt the eyes of his friends on him. Bjorn said something to him, but Skylan ignored him.
He had spoken defiantly to Zahakis, but now Skylan wondered: What good was defiance? What good was courage? There was no escape. No way home. Even his proud ship was a prisoner, bereft of the Dragon Kahg whose spirit sent it skimming over the waves. Skylan rested his hand lovingly on the hull of his broken ship, and he bowed his head and felt tears trickle hot onto his cheeks.
I am scared, Skylan admitted.
He had not felt fear like this, not even standing in the shield wall facing ogres, outnumbered two-to-one. He had fought giants and their bone-smashing stones and he had not known fear like this—gut-wrenching, bowel-shredding terror.
He was a slave with no control over his fate. If Acronis decided to starve him, Skylan would starve. If Acronis decided to whip him, Skylan would die under the lash. Raegar was probably going to kill Wulfe, and Skylan was helpless to protect the boy he had come to love.
I failed Wulfe, like I failed so many people—my father, Draya, Garn. I failed Aylaen. I failed Torval and my gods.
Skylan looked back at the mistakes he had made—mistakes that had led him and his people to this place—and he wished with all his soul that he could live his life over again. His arm burned and throbbed, but the pain in the limb was nothing to the pain in his heart. If his father, Norgaard, had been there, Skylan would have sunk to his knees and sobbed like a child.
“How is my fish knife?” said a voice.
Skylan raised his head and saw Torval standing over him. The god carried a cracked shield. His battle axe was notched, his helm dented. His clothes were torn, his face bruised and battered. His eyes were bright and glittered like a steel blade beneath a winter sun.
Skylan burned with shame.
“Do not look at me, Lord,” he said. “I cannot bear for you to see me like this. I have failed you.”
“No,” said Torval, after a moment’s brooding silence. “It is we gods who have failed you.”
“No, Lord! Never!” Skylan said, shocked.
Torval gave a weary smile. “Well, well. We won’t argue over it.”
“How goes the battle in heaven, Lord?” Skylan asked, profoundly respectful.
Torval shrugged. “About as well as it goes for you here on the ground. Still, so long as you keep fighting, so will we.”
“Fight,” Skylan said bitterly. “How can I fight when their foul god, Aelon, has cut off my sword arm?”
“Gods may control the spinning of the wheel,” said Torval. “But the thread the wheel spins is your own.”
A slow and steady rain began to fall. The soldiers who had been left behind to guard the prisoners sat some distance away, huddled over a fire that sputtered in the rain.
Skylan pulled himself up and over the hull, onto the deck of his broken ship. The dragonhead prow lay on the deck, empty eyes staring into the rain. Finding a blanket, Skylan spread it out and lay down.
The cold rain drummed on his head, soaking the blanket so that it was worse than useless. Then he heard the sounds of other footfalls on the deck. He heard voices—Erdmun complaining about the rain and whining that his arm hurt, Bjorn telling his brother to shut up. He heard Sigurd gruffly order Aylaen down into the hold where it was dry. He heard Aylaen say defiantly, “I will sleep on the deck with the rest of you.”
The tents the soldiers had erected for the slaves would provide shelter from the storm. The Torgun made their beds on their ship.
Skylan smiled in the rain-soaked darkness.
What good was courage? What good defiance?
Maybe no good at all. Maybe we will die slaves with tattoos burned into our flesh. Maybe we will be captives of Aelon until death frees us.
Until that time, we will sleep on our ship.
CHAPTER
4
* * *
BOOK TWO
The Temple of the New Dawn was located at the entrance to the enclave housing the Church of the New Dawn. The Temple was not to be confused with the Shrine of Aelon. The Temple was open to the public. The Shrine was not. The Temple had been built some forty years ago by an ambitious Priest-General, a man named Saatsakis.
The Temple was a beautiful structure, simple and elegant, open to the air, admitting the light of the sun by day and the light of the moon and stars by night. The building was constructed entirely of white marble striated with black. One could enter from any direction, ascending broad marble stairs and passing through the columned portico to the shaded interior.
In the center of the Temple stood an enormous statue of Aelon. Carved out of marble, the statue portrayed the god as a youthful, vigorous man, clad in golden armor. Aelon held a flame in one hand and a sword in the other. At his feet a dragon lay dying, pierced by the god’s sword. The flame that burned in Aelon’s marble hand had been miraculously kindled, brought to life by the prayers of the Priest-General on the day the Temple had been consecrated. The flame had never died.
The Temple was crowded, day and night, with supplicants bringing gifts and asking for Aelon’s blessing. Aelon’s priests maintained that the god was generous with his largesse, but then they would always hint that it was wise to give if one expected to receive. The priests transported gifts from the altar to their store houses.
The wealth of the Church was divided up, much going to operating costs and maintaining the buildings, supporting the priests and priestesses of Aelon, and charitable works.
The mendicant priests and priestesses of Aelon worked among the poor. The warrior-priests of Aelon were the highest in rank and most respected. They maintained security and order and confidently and secretly looked forward to the day when the Church would supplant the Imperial family and rule Oran.
Many people did not know this, but the New Dawn was represented by a pantheon of gods. In the Temple were statues to the lesser gods, who had come to this world with Aelon. These were much smaller and, over time, they had been shoved off to one side, stashed in out-of-the way niches or backed into corners. Few people, even in the Church, could tell you the names of all the gods of the New Dawn.
Treia stood in the Temple of Torval’s enemy, Aelon, gazing up at the youthful, handsome face of the god, which was, to her weak eyes, a white marble blur. She could see the dragon lying dead beneath his feet much more clearly, and she was reminded of the wooden statue of Vindrash that had split into two pieces in the poor and shabby little temple honoring the goddess. She looked again at the huge face of the god and saw him bold, strong, confident, powerful. He reminded her of Raegar, and she smiled.
Raegar had told her about Aelon, describing the god as ambitious, determined to allow nothing to stand in the way of achieving his goal, which was to rule all of creation. Treia could understand and admire such a god, but not worship. Treia had not yet met the god she could worship.
Raegar had talked about Sinaria, and Treia had eagerly looked forward to seeing its wonders. When the Light of the Sea had finally docked, Raegar had told Treia he was to be part of the triumphant parade. He had handed her over to the Temple guards (low-ranking warrior-priests). They had assisted her into something Raegar termed a “sedan chair”—a chair mounted on sturdy poles carried on the shoulders of slaves.
Treia was alarmed at riding in such a conveyance, but Raegar assured her it was perfectly safe. She sat stiff and tense inside the vehicle, terrified of moving lest the slaves should drop her. After a time, she relaxed enough to take a peep out of the silken curtains that guarded her privacy. She was excited by the vast number of people. She noticed the stench, but she had smelled worse during her years tending the sick. She found the city enthralling.
Raegar had ordered the guards to take Treia to a private room in the Temple, where she was provided with food and refreshment. She was to remain there until he came to fetch her. She did not find the wait tedious. She strolled through the beautiful gardens, watching the people come and go, gazing in wonder at the clothing worn by the women—which consisted of long, loose-fitting gowns attached at intervals along the shoulders with pins of gold. Over the under-gown some of the women wore a plain woolen gown held at the shoulder by two straps, which Treia would later discover meant the woman was married. Some wealthy women wore cloaks over this, draped gracefully over their arms.
She wandered from room to room. In one, scribes sat at desks, copying the teachings of Aelon onto papyrus scrolls. Treia had no idea what they were doing and was not interested enough to ask.
Raegar was in an ill humor when he finally returned to her, meeting her in the Temple’s private room. After his triumphant return from a perilous voyage, he had expected the Empress to invite him to dine. She had invited the Legate Acronis and the Priest-General, but she had not chosen to include Raegar.
“Someday she will take notice of me,” he raved. “My time is coming.”
Treia blinked, confused. “What do you mean by that, my love?”
Raegar shook his head. “All your questions will be answered tomorrow, my dear. You are tired and I have work yet to do this night. I will take you to your sleeping quarters.”
Treia was disappointed. She had been alone all day and she had looked forward to spending time with her lover. He led her from the Temple into the enclave, which was walled off, closed to the public. The gates were guarded by Temple guards in segmented armor similar to that worn by the Legate’s soldiers. Their helms were different, lacking the cheek flaps, and they wore short caplets adorned with serpents and suns. The guards saluted Raegar, who gravely returned their salute.
Inside the wall, she could no longer hear the noise or smell the stench of the city. All was quiet. Priests and priestesses walked paths of crushed stone that connected the various buildings to each other. They sometimes spoke quiet greetings to Raegar, but for the most part people went about their business in silence. The sunlight reflected from the top of the shrine of Aelon caused it to seem to glow with holy radiance.
“What work do you have to do?” Treia asked.
“Aelon wants me to bring his light to our benighted people,” said Raegar. “The Priest-General believes these men are a danger. He spoke to the Empress about putting them to death, saying it was Aelon’s will. Legate Acronis had already talked to her of fighting them in the Para Dix. She refused to heed the Priest-General’s advice. He needs the means to control them.”
Raegar described the tattoos, the crushed gemstones that were mixed with the ink and then ground into the arms of the Torgun warriors. “The gemstones embedded in the flesh allow the god to communicate his thoughts to his priestesses. They, in turn, can speak directly to the god. They are most blessed!”
“And Aelon intends to do this with Skylan and Sigurd?” Treia asked. She almost laughed, but then realized Raegar might be offended.
“Of course not,” Raegar assured her. “As if they would be so honored!”
Treia noted that some of the priestesses smiled at Raegar, and she wound her hands around Raegar’s arm, walking closer to him. She saw, too, that some of the women were staring at her strange clothes and whispering and giggling.
“I am sorry Aylaen has to undergo such pain and humiliation,” Treia said, “but the discipline will be good for her.”
“You need not worry, my dear. Aylaen will be spared,” said Raegar. “Despite the fact that the Legate has insisted on retaining her as his slave, I have hopes that she will yet come to us.”
A certain tone in his voice caused Treia to cast him a sharp glance. “What you mean is that you hope Aylaen will come to you,” she said coldly. She withdrew her hands from his arm.
“I am certain we both hope she will stand in Aelon’s blessed light,” said Raegar in reproving tones.
“You don’t deny it,” said Treia, overcome by jealousy. “You are in love with her!”
“I love you, Treia,” said Raegar, and he stopped in the middle of the path to take hold of both her hands, bringing them to his lips. “I want you for my wife. As for Aylaen, she is your sister. I care for her as for family.”
Treia didn’t believe him. Even with her weak eyes, she could see his admiration for Aylaen. All her life, Treia had been jealous of her sister, who was not only more beautiful, but whose life had been far easier than Treia’s. That Aylaen, already so fortunate, should have now attracted Raegar’s regard and affection was more than Treia could bear.
“I am sorry to have to tell you this, my love,” said Treia coolly. “I love you so much. But I know that Aylaen does not have the slightest regard for you. In truth, I have heard her say many times how much she despises you.”
Raegar frowned. “Perhaps I can find a way to change her opinion.”
“Tell me about our sleeping quarters,” Treia said, changing the subject. “I hope you will not be out late tonight. It has been far too long since we lay together.”
She hoped to win a smile from him. Instead, he shook his head and quickened his pace.
“You will be given a room in the nunnery. Aelon permits only married couples to spend the night together.”
Treia was not pleased. She could have pointed out to Raegar that his god had not objected to them making love aboard the galley, but she did not want to further annoy him. She waited for him to say something to the effect that this separation was only temporary, that soon they would be together forever as husband and wife. But Raegar went on to extol the beauty of the Temple grounds, pointing out various buildings as they walked together.
Treia smiled outwardly; inwardly she gnashed her teeth.
At last they came to the building he termed the “nunnery,” a large stone structure that reminded Treia of the buildings where the Vindrasi housed their cattle during the winter. He gave her into the care of a sharp-eyed, dark-haired woman known as the Priestess-Mother, who looked askance at Treia’s foreign attire and did not seem to know what to do with her.
The Priestess-Mother and Raegar held a whispered consultation. Treia stood off to one side, feeling her face burn when three young novices, passing by on their way to evening prayers, stopped to stare at her.
The Priestess-Mother sent two of them away with a sharp word. She ordered the third to take Treia to her room.
Treia looked pleadingly at Raegar. “Must you leave me?”
“You know what I have to do. I will meet you tomorrow after morning prayers,” he said curtly.
He walked off, going to the Torgun, going to see her sister.
Treia’s cell was one in a row of cells. The room was small and furnished with a bed, a desk, a chair, and a chamber pot. A small window cut into the stone wall near to the ceiling let in light and fresh air. Treia had no candle. The light shining from the dome of the Shrine of Aelon was so bright she did not need one.
The novice gave her a loose-fitting gown in which to sleep and waited for Treia to undress. The novice took away her clothes, telling her she would bring her suitable clothing in the morning. Treia wanted to keep the brooches pinned to her apron dress. The brooches were gold and part of her dowry.
“No personal possessions,” the novice said. “Everything belongs to the god.”
Treia let the brooches go without a murmur. She would have continued to wear her undergarments, but the novice insisted on taking those as we
ll, saying in disparaging tones that they were likely crawling with vermin and would have to be burned.
Treia was offended and insulted, for she judged by the smell that she bathed far more often than did this young woman. Treia held her tongue, fearing that if she said anything to offend the priestess, Raegar would hear of it and be angry with her.
The novice finally left, saying that Treia would be expected to wake when she heard the morning bells calling her to worship. Treia had nothing else to do, and even though the sun was just starting to set, she lay down on the bed. She was tired, but she could not sleep. The light from the dome glared through her eyelids. Having spent weeks aboard ship, she had the strange and sickening impression that her bed was heaving up and down.
She lay in bed, thinking about Aylaen, about Raegar.
She rolled over, miserable. She woke to the sound of bells.
______
The Priestess-Mother herself brought Treia a gown such as she had seen the other women wearing and a cloak. To Treia’s surprise, the Priestess-Mother, who had been cold and insulting last night, was warm and ingratiating this morning. Treia belted the thin woolen gown around her waist as she was instructed and draped the cloak over her shoulders, wrapping the cloth around one arm.
Accustomed to wearing several layers of clothing for warmth, Treia felt half-dressed as she joined the other women who were going to morning prayers.
The Priestess-Mother took Treia by the arm, acting as her personal escort to the Shrine of Aelon. The sun was yet only a pink glimmer in the sky.
Treia had thought they would be returning to the Temple, but the Priestess-Mother informed her that the Temple was where the “children” of Aelon worshipped.
“The common people, Sister,” she explained in response to Treia’s questioning look. The Priestess-Mother sniffed. “Those of us who have dedicated our lives to Aelon are privileged to come together for his worship in the Shrine of Aelon, a most holy place. No one is permitted inside except his faithful servants.”
Secret of the Dragon Page 16
