“Men use trickery,” Aurenna commented.
“Gods too,” Saban said.
“No,” she insisted. “The gods are pure.” Saban did not argue with her for she was a goddess and he was a mere man.
Sometimes, as Saban talked, he worked. He had found a yew tree in the woods and he had cut a limb and trimmed away the bark and most of the heartwood, and then shaped a great long bow to replace the one Camaban had hurled into the sea. He tipped the bow with notched horn, greased the wood with bull’s fat, and Lewydd found him sinews with which to string it and Aurenna cut some strands of her golden hair that he wove into the sinews so that the bowstring glittered like the sunlight. “There,” she said, laughing, “you have a goddess’s hair on the bow. It can’t miss!”
On the day he first strung the bow he seared an arrow clean across the river and deep into the farther woods. Aurenna wanted to try the weapon, but did not have enough strength to pull the string even halfway. Lewydd could draw it fully, but he was used to the Outfolk’s short bow and his arrow spun clumsily away to tumble into the stream.
“Tell me another story,” Aurenna commanded Saban and so he told her the tale of Keri, goddess of the woods, who had been loved by Fallag, the god of stone, but Keri had spurned him and so Fallag forever shaped himself into axes that could cut down Keri’s trees. And a day or two later, bereft of stories about the gods, Saban told Aurenna about Derrewyn and how he had hoped to marry her, and how Lengar had come from the darkness and loosed an arrow that had changed his life. Aurenna listened to the tale, staring at the river swirling by, and then she looked at him. “Lengar killed his own father?”
“Yes.”
She shuddered, then frowned for a long while. “Will Lengar return the treasures?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“Kereval thinks so.”
“Do you?”
Saban did not answer for a long time. “Only if he is made to,” he confessed at last.
Aurenna flinched at that answer, plainly distressed. “Erek will force him,” she said.
“Or Scathel will.”
“Who wants to put you in the pit.”
Saban shrugged. “He will do worse than that.” And then he thought of what must happen to Aurenna within a few days and his heart was suddenly too full and he could not speak. He looked at her, marveling at the shine of her hair and the curve of her cheek and the sweetness of her pale face, and he was astonished by her serenity. Soon she must burn, but she faced that fate with a placidity that disturbed Saban as much as it impressed him. He ascribed her calmness to her divinity, for he could find no other explanation.
“I shall talk to Erek,” Aurenna said softly, “and persuade him to make Lengar keep his agreement.”
“Lengar will say that Erek sent him the gold and that he is entitled to keep it.”
“But surely he wants a temple?” Aurenna asked.
Saban shook his head. “It’s Camaban who wants the temple moved. Lengar told me he doesn’t believe it’s possible. Lengar wants power. He wants to rule a great land and have hundreds of folk bring him tribute. It’s Camaban who dreams of bringing the god to earth, not Lengar.”
“So Erek must kill Lengar?”
“I wish he would,” Saban said forcefully.
“I will ask him,” Aurenna said gently.
Saban stared at the river. It was much wider than Mai’s river, and it swirled dark where the sea tides pulled and tugged at the current. “Are you not terrified?” he asked. He had not meant to ask her, but just blurted out the question.
“Of course,” Aurenna said. It was the first time they had spoken of her marriage and now, also for the first time, Saban saw tears in her eyes. “I don’t want to burn for the god,” she said quietly so that the spearmen could not hear her. “Everyone says it is quick! The fire is so big, so fierce, that there isn’t time to feel anything except Erek’s embrace, and after that I shall be in bliss. That’s what the priests tell me, but I sometimes wish I could live to see the treasures returned.” She paused and gave Saban a wan smile. “Live to see my own children.”
“Has any sun bride ever lived?” Saban asked.
“One did,” Aurenna answered. “She leaped through the flames and fell into the sea, and somehow she did not die but came to a beach near the cliff. So they brought her up and pushed her into the fire. But it was a very slow death because the fire was low by then.” She shuddered. “I have no choice, Saban. I must jump into Erek’s fire.”
“You could -” Saban started.
“No!” she said sharply, stopping him before he could say more. “How can I not do what Erek wants? What would I be if I ran away?” She frowned, thinking. “From the moment when I can first remember thinking for myself I knew I was meant to be someone special. Not important, not wealthy, but special. The gods want me, Saban, and I must want the same thing that they want. I sometimes dare hope that Erek will spare me and that I can do his work here on earth, but if he wants me at his side then I should be the happiest person ever born.”
He stared down at the rock on which they sat. It glinted in the evening light as though shards of moonshine were trapped in the pale green stone, while the flecks of red made it seem as if blood were imprisoned within the rock. He thought of Derrewyn. He thought of her often, and that worried him, for he did not know how to reconcile those thoughts with his yearnings for Aurenna. Camaban had told him Derrewyn was pregnant and he wondered if she had given birth yet. He wondered if she was reconciled to Lengar. He wondered if she remembered their time before Hengall’s death.
“What are you thinking?” Aurenna asked.
“Nothing,” Saban said, “nothing.”
Next evening Saban joined the priests as they went to see how far the stone’s shadow had crept in Aurenna’s temple. Scathel spat at him, then stooped to see that the shadow was still two finger’s breadths from the central stone. Saban wanted to take a stone maul and hammer away the pillar’s edge, but instead he prayed and knew, even as he pleaded with Slaol, that his prayers were in vain. He watched for omens, but found nothing good. He saw a blackbird fledgling fly and thought it a good augury, but a sparrowhawk stooped and there was a flurry of feathers and a spray of blood.
Midsummer was a day or so away and still the sun shone bright, though the fishermen, laying their offerings of bladderwrack and oarweed before Malkin’s shrine, swore that the storm god was stirring. Camaban climbed a hill that was brilliant with milkwort and crimson-spiked orchids and claimed he saw a brownish line on the western horizon, though that far threat did not cause nearly so much excitement as the return of five young men who had been among the war party that had accompanied Lengar to Ratharryn. The five spearmen had made a long journey, skirting hostile tribes by staying in the woods, and all were weak and tired when they reached the settlement.
That night Kereval ordered a feast of welcome, and when the five young warriors had eaten, the folk of the tribe gathered to hear their news. They assembled outside Kereval’s great hut, alongside the pit that Scathel had dug for Saban; the tribe’s men squatted nearest the storytellers while the women stood behind. They already knew of Lengar’s success in taking Ratharryn from his father, but now the five young men spoke of a year of battles that had occurred in the high land between Ratharryn and Cathallo. They said that the forces of Ratharryn, stiffened by the warrior band from Sarmennyn, had inflicted a series of defeats on Cathallo. Eight men from Sarmennyn had died in the skirmishes and another score were injured, and a few men of Ratharryn had suffered, but Cathallo’s casualties, the young men said, were innumerable. “Their great sorceress had died in the winter,” one of the warriors explained, “and that omen took their hearts away.”
“What of Kital,” Saban asked, “their chief?”
“Kital of Cathallo died,” the spearman answered. “He was slaughtered by Vakkal in one of the battles.” The listeners thumped their spear butts on the dry ground to show their pleasure at hearing that a hero of Sarmennyn h
ad killed the enemy’s chieftain. “His successor sent us lavish gifts in hope of peace.”
“Were the gifts accepted?” Kereval wanted to know.
“In return for a settlement called Maden.”
“Where are the gifts?” Scathel asked.
“Half of them have been put aside,” the warrior answered, “and will be brought to Sarmennyn.”
There was more pleasure at this, but Scathel silenced the approbation by standing to his full height. “And what of our gold?” he demanded of the five warriors. “Did Lengar of Ratharryn send any of our gold with you?”
“No,” the young man’s leader confessed, “but he showed it to us.”
“He showed it to you! How kind of him!” Scathel spoke derisively. The high priest had honored the feast by dressing in a great woolen cloak that had been threaded with hundreds of gull feathers so that he seemed swathed in white and gray. His lank hair was bound with a leather band into which more feathers had been placed, while round his neck he had hung a chain of small bones. “Erek’s gold is being displayed in Ratharryn!” he said scornfully. “All of it?”
This last question had been snapped in anger and the tone brought an expectant silence to the listening crowd. The five men looked abashed. “Not all of it,” their leader confessed after a while. “There were only three of the great pieces.”
“And some of the smaller pieces were gone too,” another of the warriors added.
“Gone where?” Scathel asked in a furious voice.
“Before we arrived,” the first man said, “those pieces had been given away by Hengall.”
“Given to whom?” Kereval asked, shocked.
“To Cathallo.”
“And you defeated Cathallo?” Scathel roared. “Did you not demand the return of the gold?”
“They claim the gold has vanished,” the young man said miserably.
“Vanished?” Scathel shouted. “Vanished!” He turned on Kereval in a blind fury. The chief, Scathel said, had been stupidly trusting. He had believed Lengar’s promises, but already part of the precious gold had been scattered like bird dung. And how much more of the gold would be given away? The crowd was all on Scathel’s side now. “Lengar will feel safe soon,” Scathel yelled. “He has forced his enemy to plead for peace and soon he will not need our men! He’ll slaughter them, then keep the gold. But we have him!” He pointed at Saban. “I can make Lengar of Ratharryn scream for mercy. I can make him sweat at night, I can crease him with pain, I can make boils erupt on his skin, I can blind him! One eye first, and then the second eye, and then his hands, and after that his feet and, last before his life, his manhood. You think Lengar will not pray for eagles to fly our gold back to us as those wounds are torn into his rotting flesh?” The men cheered this speech, thumping their spear butts on the ground.
Kereval held up his hand for silence. “Did Lengar promise to give us the treasure?” he asked the five warriors.
“He said he would exchange it for our temple,” their leader answered.
“You have chosen a temple?” Kereval asked Camaban.
Camaban looked surprised to be addressed, as though he had been paying no attention to the heated discussion. “I’m sure we shall find one,” he said casually.
“But if you do find it,” Scathel jeered at Camaban, “and if you move it, will your brother return our gold?”
Camaban nodded to the priest. “He has agreed to do that.”
“He agreed,” Scathel said. “He agreed! But he never told us that part of our gold was already given away! What else is he hiding from us? What else?” And with that question the gaunt priest suddenly crouched and put his head in his hands so that his long hair trailed in the dust. He mewed for a while, writhing in apparent pain, and the crowd held their breath, knowing that he was speaking with Erek. Saban glanced anxiously at Camaban, wondering why his brother did not put on a similar display, but Camaban just yawned again.
Scathel threw his head back and howled at the clear evening sky. The howl shrank into a mewing whimper and the priest’s eyes rolled up so that only their whites showed. “The god speaks,” he gasped in a hoarse voice, “he speaks!” Saban fought off terror, suspecting only too well what message the god would bring. He looked at Camaban again, but Camaban had picked up a stray kitten and was unconcernedly plucking fleas from its fur. “We must use blood!” Scathel shrieked, and with those words he flung a hand toward Saban. “Seize him!”
A dozen warriors competed to hold Saban, who had no time to defend himself. Haragg tried to pull some of the men off, but the trader was knocked down by a spear butt. Cagan roared and charged to his father’s rescue and it took six men to tackle the mute giant and hold him face down beside the pit. Saban struggled, but the spearmen held him tight against the wall of Kereval’s hut. They ignored the chief’s protests for the news that part of Erek’s gold had been given away had enraged them.
The high priest shrugged off the gull-feather cloak. He was naked now. “Erek,” he shouted, “what I do to this man, do to his brother!”
Saban could do nothing except watch Scathel walk toward him. There was triumph on the priest’s face, triumph and excitement, and Saban realized that Scathel was enjoying this cruelty. Camaban was ignoring the confrontation, tickling the kitten’s throat while Scathel took a flint blade from one of his priests. “Take Lengar’s eye!” Scathel shouted at the god, then reached out with his left hand and grabbed a handful of Saban’s hair. The spearmen held him tighter, and all Saban could do was try to turn away as the flint blade came closer.
“No!” Aurenna’s voice called.
The knife quivered like a great shadow at the edge of Saban’s sight.
“No!” Aurenna said again. “Not while I live!”
Scathel hissed and turned on her.
“Not while I live,” she repeated calmly. She had walked through the crowd and now faced Scathel boldly. “Put the knife down.”
“What is he to you?” Scathel demanded.
“He tells me stories,” Aurenna said. She stared Scathel in the eye, and Saban, who thought the priest was tall, saw that the sun bride was very nearly the same height. She faced him in her white and gold splendor and her back was straight and her face as calm as ever. “And when I go to my husband,” she told the priest, “he will send a sign about the gold.”
Scathel’s face twisted. He was being given orders by a girl, but the girl was a goddess and he could do nothing except obey and so he forced himself to bow his head and back away. “Put him in the pit,” he ordered the two spearmen.
But again Aurenna intervened. “No!” she said. “He still has tales to tell me.”
“He must go into the pit!” Scathel insisted.
“Not till I leave,” Aurenna said and she stared into Scathel’s eyes until the priest gave way. He signaled for the spearmen to let go of Saban’s arms.
And next evening the pillar in the sun bride’s temple had no shadow for there were thick clouds in the west. But the priests decided the time had come anyway.
In the dawn they would leave for the Sea Temple, and in the evening they would send Aurenna to the fire.
That night the wind rose, tugging at the thatch and thrashing at the trees. Saban lay in his pelt, swathed in misery, and he could have sworn he did not sleep at all, yet even so he did not see or hear Camaban stir in the night’s heart and slip silently from the hut.
Camaban went to Malkin’s shrine and there prayed to the weather god. He prayed for a long time as the wind fretted at the settlement’s palisade and the small waves of the river were flecked with white. Camaban bowed to the god, kissing the idol’s blackened feet, then he went back to Haragg’s hut and wrapped himself in a cloak of bear’s fur. He listened to Cagan snore, heard Saban whimper in his sleep and he closed his eyes and thought of the temple up in the hills, the Temple of Shadows: he saw it moved as if by magic to the green hill beside Ratharryn, and he saw the sun god poised above the hill, huge and bright and all-embra
cing, and Camaban began to weep for he knew he could make the world happy if only the fools did not thwart him. And there were so many fools. But then he, too, slept.
Saban was the first to stir in the dawn. He crawled to the hut entrance and saw that the good weather had ended. The wind was whipping the tree tops and gray-black clouds were hurrying low above the hills. “Is it raining?” Camaban asked.
“No.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“No.”
“I did!” Camaban claimed. “All night!”
Saban could not stand his brother’s cheerfulness and so he went out into the settlement where the newly woken tribe readied themselves for the day and night that lay ahead. They would take bags of food and skins of water to the Sea Temple for the ceremony would last most of the day, and once the bride had gone to the flames they would dance about the temple until the fire had cooled enough for Aurenna’s charred bones to be retrieved and pounded into dust.
Kereval, swathed in a cloak of beaver fur and carrying a massive spear with a polished bronze head, ordered his spearmen to open the settlement gate. The warriors had smeared their faces with red ochre and bound their long hair in strips of hide. Today no one would fish. Today nearly all the tribe would go to the Sea Temple. From all across Sarmennyn the folk would gather to send the sun bride on her journey. Haragg watched the preparations and then, unable to endure the sight, abruptly turned away. “Come hunting with me,” he told Saban.
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