Red World Trilogy, Page 2

  “But what is your true name?” Persisted the young man. “I have never met a desert sage but I had heard the desert holy men have more than one name!”

  “And why should you ask, young Ketu? It is too wonderful for you. If you hear my true name from the blessed realms your ears would bleed. So be content. I am Nagilla.” Ketu marveled.

  “But how did he know my name?” He whispered to Burdun. Burdun laughed warmly.

  “You look upon one who can tell a vision or prophecy long before it happens and you marvel at names?”

  “There are not many of us about anymore, Burdun. Do not be too hard on him.” Nagilla said. He turned to all the guards who had come to see him.

  “Farewell Sabo, Burdun and Ketu and to all of you,” He said to the gathered men and called up to those that stood atop the gate looking down with lanterns.

  “Open the doors!” Shouted Burdun. Slowly the great doors heaved open slightly a few feet. Nagilla caught a glimpse of the shadow of the vast aqueduct to the left outside the city walls, filling with rain water. It ran from Assenna, the capital, all the way to the western border of Hybron. During the day it stood like a massive structure of bones shaped and sculpted over ages and now it loomed like the shadow of a fearsome siege tower. He pulled his robes close about his shoulders and disappeared into the deepening dusk.

  . . .

  The gatekeepers watched the figure of the sage disappear.

  “What will happen now? What about our people?”

  “Do not worry yet, Ketu.” Said Burdun. “We are still free to worship as we will, as is everyone else, as long as the king lives. The prophets, the sages, the Fathers and Mothers have time yet, and even when the darkness finally falls. Then we hide.”

  “I only wish we were at the end of the prophecy instead of the beginning.”

  “So do I but none of us can choose where to appear in the stream of time.” The great rams' horns of the central temple of the Aishanna-La sounded for the Prayers of Night.

  “I want go to the temple to pray tonight masters!” Said the young man excitedly. The others laughed. Sabo winked at him knowingly.

  “Go then, Ketu. Perhaps you will find a wife there too. Hurry, before the Ainash come back and put a stop to it!” Sabo jested.

  Women had always come to the temple to pray and worship. A few older ones became Temple Mothers and in rare cases, some women took up the calling as desert prophetesses. It was the same as it always had been, since anyone could remember. Yet, divergent groups within the ranks, the sect of the Ainash being one of the most powerful, had risen over the years protesting this right and they were becoming more strident and violent in their opposition to women taking any part in religious life. And these were just the groups that kept the ways of the Aishanna-La. These ideas had taken root in a few other groups well before they had infected the faithful. Other groups, political and religious, also opposed the Aishanna-La for other reasons. Opposition everywhere was growing. They all opposed the Red King but dared not speak against the king openly. Yet.

  The young man raced off towards the central temple. Two other gatekeepers took their places as Burdun and Sabo went inside the little booth that sat beside the massive doors. Sabo rolled up his sleeves, untied his leather bands and washed his hands and arms at a stone bowl by the booth door. He dried them, bent his knees and prayed. Burdun looked out across the city night scape. It was dark now except for the cream white lanterns that dotted the streets and front doorsteps of houses. They looked like tiny, balloon star stations from where he stood. There was a vast spray of stars in the violet black sky, slowly being engulfed by rain clouds. “Like the darkness that is covering the twilight. . .” He recalled a passage from the Aishanna. He would begin his own prayers after Sabo finished. Everything was changing and not for the better. But was that not the way of the world? The Lord of the Deep saw it from beginning to end and knew His purpose even as Man lived and died like the grasses of the steppes. The night spoke to him. All was silent in the night except the natural world and the thoughts of a contemplative mind. He loved the Prayers of Night ritual for this very reason. Tomorrow would be another day but the times in which they lived would never see the Dawn. Only people far into the future would. Burdun was weary. He would pray. It was its own power and solace. He would pray for the land, for the city, for the people and for the king.

  . . .

  He could hear riders coming. He motioned sharply to the servant.

  “Their horses will need water.” He snapped. The servant left quickly. The man poured himself wine from a delicate, glass ewer, then he poured some in the other two goblets. He glanced approvingly at his engraved, golden arm bands, then flicked his sleeve over his left arm. Footfalls approached the door and there was a knock.

  “Come!” Two of his hired men came in. Dust and sand fell from their cloaks and boots.

  “Well?” He demanded. He drank deeply from the goblet and stared at them expectantly.

  “My Lord Tybbl, two of the caravans with your spies have already disappeared into the high desert. It will be yet a long time before we hear from them. The spy with the third caravan was accidentally killed by tribesman in the middle of a feud. That thread is now lost.”

  “Killed, you say?” He sucked his teeth. “What a waste. But there are two left. What were the caravans doing in the city? I'm sure it was more than simple trade. Have you two heard anything yet?”

  “Last I heard, they had business at the palace some time ago. With one of those desert holy men, Lord Tybbl.” Said one of the men.

  “Holy men!” Lord Tybbl's voice was loaded with scorn.

  “We do not know for a certainty. . .we think. . . ” Started the first man again.

  “You think, Luwain?”

  “My lord, the wild tribes are extremely dangerous and suspicious of city people. This is careful, slow work. Two of the spies are traveling with two tribes as we speak. How they will manage to get information is anyone's guess but it is their business. We can only trust them and wait for news at this point. It will be a long time in coming.” Said Luwain.

  “Someone from the royal family is behind this. Perhaps even the king himself.” Said the second man.

  “Yes.”

  “I wonder. What tribes were these caravans from, exactly?” Asked Lord Tybbl.

  “I noticed one of the caravans in particular. Most of these people had the garb and tattoos of the polar tribes of the north.”

  “That far? Great stars! Why would northern peoples come this far south? The peoples beyond the great mountains of the west are unknown. Are they even truly people?” The other men shrugged. Lord Tybbl sighed in frustration.

  “Something got out! Some kind of information, a person, a secret, something! And it's traveling with those tribes out into the deep desert!”

  “You still mean to muster an army, my lord?” Asked the second man.

  “Sending armies after wild tribes is a dangerous affair. An unpredictable, savage people. Bred for warfare and unafraid of anything. It will also not go unnoticed by the king.” Said Luwain.

  “I have changed my mind, Lisson. We must needs wait for more information from our plants. Let us hope they survive the trek. As for the kingdom, I and others have plans for removing the kingship.”

  “How?” Both men asked eagerly. One of them went to take up a goblet.

  “Never-ending unrest.” He blocked the goblets and motioned towards a large stone bowl by the door. The first man removed his copper arm bands and washed his hands and arms. The second stood aloof from this ritual.

  “Ah. I had forgotten, you are not of the Ainash, Lisson. Forgive me. Come. Sit down and have a drink and we will continue to talk of many things.” He then offered the wine. Breaking the night's stillness in their hideout outside the city was the fall of the rain.

  “Rain. Finally. Great gods above.” Said Luwain, who set about polishing his bands after washing and sitting down.

  “Phah! One more thing the
people will credit to that abomination sitting on the throne.”

  “The king, you mean? My lord, come now!” Said Luwain, grinning widely.

  “ I do mean him. I have also sent men to do away with that favorite sage of his.”

  “Some say he has special powers.” Said Lisson taking a drink.

  “Surely you do not believe such nonsense?” Said Lord Tybbl. “You are not even one of us.”

  “No I am not. But I have seen things. Great feats long ago, from when there were far more of those sages around.”

  “You sound like an ignorant, old woman. Magicians' tricks, I tell you. This is an age of machines and explorations and learning. Nay, the tricks these withered desert fathers and haggard old crones throw up is something they took from a once impossible, wonderful machine. They can make anything look a trick with a machine or contraption that is advanced enough. That is what they are, after all. Tricksters.”

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps their powers are real.” Lisson countered. Luwain scoffed.

  “You cannot be serious?” They both stared at him, incredulous. Lisson merely shrugged. Lord Tybbl heaved an irritated sigh.

  “Real or not, we lords and principals of the kingdom have our positions and livelihoods to look after. Our culture is at stake. Think those so-called holy men care for any of that? They munch on locusts and dirt and their own excrement and scream the end is nigh! They love the sound of their own voices and the king indulges these ignorant fools. Listening to them is like listening for wisdom in the wind. Wisdom cannot be found there. Our culture and our civilization is where it can be found.” Lord Tybbl sniffed. Lisson glanced at the stone bowl then looked back at him.

  “So, you are not religious, then?” Lisson asked. They both looked at him.

  “I am, when necessary. Not overly so. It is one of many levers that keeps the people in line.”

  “Oh. I was confused for a moment.”

  “You are right,my lord!” Said Luwain. Lord Tybbl grinned and narrowed his eyes.

  “Forget the holy men! Forget rituals! I will tell you a thing - I have peered into the future and I do not see room for another Red King. The line ends with this one.”

  “Easier said than done.” Said Lisson.

  “Do you doubt the mission?” Asked Luwain. His copper arm bands shined like mirrors. Lisson could see his eyes reflected in the gleaming metal. Lisson wore no such bands, not being of the Ainash or the Aishanna-La.

  “You sun-worshipers are a strange people. But we have one thing in common. We want an end to this tyrant on the throne.” Lisson nodded and drained his goblet. He wondered at the Ainash. They were such contentious, spiteful men it seemed to him and they had no regard for their women. In that, they were much like the beast-like dragon -worshipers and the Strab, a sinister sect that kept their women hidden in underground enclaves. His own people had no such odd notions. Women had their duties as wives and mothers in the home but in religious life and in the healing arts a woman's wisdom was greatly respected. Little did these venal Ainash know that his own people had no use for them once the king was gone. There was only room for one god and that was Hec, as far as Lisson was concerned. Hec was the only god one could see, who also demonstrated His great power by riding his chariot across the sky every day and bestowing his glory upon the crops of believers and unbelievers alike, since the Age of Creation. Why worship something you could not see? One might as well make up a god and worship it. Naturally, Lisson did not volunteer these thoughts.

  “There is only one problem with the plan. The most difficult part of any plan is the waiting. Patience is necessary and we will need lots of it.” Luwain reminded them again of the issue of time.

  “Yes. And throughout that time many hidden levers have been put into place. One day, years from now we will pull them all.”

  “Rest assuredly.” Said Luwain.

  “We may not be the ones doing the pulling, my lord. When that day comes, we may all have reached an ancient age or we will all be dead.” Said Lisson.

  “There are others who will finish the work. One day this whole land will be set ablaze. A never ending fire.” The three conspirators fell silent at this thought, each concerned with what the fire and darkness had come to mean to him. Far in the distance they heard the call for the Prayers of Night. Lord Tybbl made a disgusted sound.

  “What is the matter, my lord? You do not pray any longer?” asked Luwain, grinning.

  “I do. But not at the temples within the city. Too many women and common rabble. I prefer the Mountain Citadel and its temple.”

  “That far, my lord?”

  “Close enough for me. When it is all said and done, when the wars and fires start, the citadel will be the place the people will flock to. In fact, more move there every year. Those sympathetic to our concerns. No women are allowed within its temple and only literates, educated men, can enter the temple.”

  “A good thing. How it should be.” Said Luwain. “I have wondered something, my lord. They say the king's own sons hate him. Perhaps they can aid us? Perhaps we should back one of them. . .”

  “Perhaps they can. We can find some use for them in the scheme of things, maybe even lend support if they can demonstrate that they can help us but they remain the king's sons. Through them the monstrosity lives. They are of the blood. Even sons who are sympathetic to our cause must die in the end. The entire royal line must be destroyed, else they will always remain a threat to us all.” Lord Tybbl lifted up his goblet and sipped. The wine was very dry. It's astringency moved him to ponder the difficult and unpleasant tasks that lay ahead. He poured more wine for himself and his spies.

  “Death to the king.” He said coldly. The other two raised their goblets to him, unafraid and bold, now that they were outside the city walls.

  “Death to the king!”

  The distant sounds of the rams' horns eventually died away.

  Schisms

  Book One of the Red World trilogy

  By V. A. Jeffrey

  Copyright © 2012

  All rights reserved.

  Artwork By Ferdinand Ladera

  Table of Contents

  Book I

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Appendixes

  Author Notes

  Notes and Information

  I.

  Long ago during the Age of the Void when God sat alone He made six Pillars, He being the first. They were great engines of stardust and cloud and He set them in six places in the universe. Seven pillars of creation there came to be. Then He made a small world. Beautiful it was and He named it Chialis, which means: Red Jewel. He set it in the very center of the Pillars and covered it with a mantle of stardust and cloud and inside it was the spark of His Essence. These things were the primordial makings of Man. Then He made others like Himself, lesser gods, and after the Void of time these set to work throughout the heavens. The mantle of veils was lifted from time and space and these gods made the other stars and the worlds of the heaven
s. Then they asked to see the jewel God had made, Chialis, the Red Eye of heaven, the Eye of God. Some gods set to work crafting and weaving life here from the spark and during the Age of Creation the Eye began to thrust out its light and beauty. There are many worlds in the heavens but Chialis is the very birthplace of life and greater than all others for it was made by the First Pillar of Creation.

  - Sha 1:1, Translations of The Holy Aishanna

  Chapter One

  1650 A. T. V.

  The way was long and the road invisible to all but the hardy peoples of the desert. They knew the land from one end of the horizon to the other, whether the endless dunes and deep powder sands of the deep desert, the rocky ground and tough greenery of the plains or the mountainous regions of the high deserts in the north, with their mazes of gorges and caves. They had secret ways through the sands, hidden from unfriendly eyes. A protection in the dark days. They used these on the hottest days of the year, when an entire tribe was on the move or during a Great Gathering such as this.

  The soft eye of the first milk moon had risen and the sky had settled in a hazy mass of deep blue and violet. The blue evening star Elitaph shined like a sapphire set in a kingly diadem. Dahlan had first perceived the blood mark in the sky. Not the usual red-pink, orange or lilac colors, depending upon the season or the weather, but the blood-red that always heralded a change in the affairs of mankind.

  “The red! The red! He is come!” He'd said to the other elders. For days he proclaimed it. And so they were in keen expectation of the prophecy from then on.

  The other moon had already set and would rise again just before dawn, leaving them with less light to see by. It was a good thing they'd managed to ford the Mowret before darkness had fallen. They were traveling to the Plain of The White Bones, a shallow, wide valley of flat rock and sand of the mountainous land north of Hybron. A Great Gathering had not happened since the Destruction and before that, since the Revolt of Tribes, a time so long ago that it was no longer counted in years by the tribes. But something had changed. Every man and woman who still lived among their tribe, the ones that kept the old ways, knew it. It was on the lips of many in the outlying towns and villages and even some among the soft epolei in the cities that still knew their tribal roots: “A king will rise again and set matters straight respecting kingdoms and princedoms and tribes and peoples.”