Transcendence Page 4

  Yakim Douan suppressed his chuckle. He heard these same words every morning - every single morning! Without fail, without the slightest devia­tion. Exactly as he had ordered them spoken fifty-two years and seven personal attendants ago.

  „God-Voice?“ Merwan Ma asked.

  A telling question, Yakim Douan realized, for the younger man had spo­ken out of turn, without prompting and without permission. The Chezru Chieftain glared at the attendant, and Merwan Ma shrank back, nearly dis­appearing behind the door.

  Yes, Yakim could still keep the overly curious young man in line, and with just a look. That, and the fact that he honestly liked Merwan Ma, was the only reason Yakim kept this one around. While one would normally expect intelligence to be a prized attribute for a personal attendant, Yakim Douan usually went out of his way to avoid that particular strength. The Chezru Chieftain was safer by far if those closest to him were somewhat dim-witted. Unfortunately for Yakim, though, by the time he had realized Merwan Ma’s brightness, he was already enamored of the young man, who had been only sixteen when he had begun to serve. Even after he had come to understand Merwan Ma’s intellect and curiosity, Yakim had kept him on, and now, with ie day of his death approaching, he was glad that he had. Merwan Ma was right and inquisitive, but he was also fiercely loyal and pious, dedicated enough to Yatol to rise into the priesthood. When Merwan Ma called Yakim „God-Voice,“ he honestly believed the title to be literal.

  „Come in,“ the Chezru Chieftain bade the attendant.

  Merwan Ma came around the door, standing straigta. He was tall, well over six feet, and lean, as were most of the people of Behren, where it was hot all the time and extra pounds and layers of fat did not sit well. He’d seem even taller if he ascended to the priesthood, Yakim realized, for then he’d grow his hair up high, as was the custom for Yatols.

  Yakim nearly chuckled again as he considered the fact that his attendant was not a Yatol priest. For centuries, the Chezru Chieftain had been at­tended only by Yatol priests; for centuries, none but Yatol priests were even allowed to speak to the God-Voice. But Yakim Douan had changed that nearly four hundred years before, after one almost disastrous transforma­tion when several of his attending Yatols had decided to make a try for the principal Chezru title themselves, claiming that the new God-Voice could not be found, despite the fact that they had a two-year-old in hand who could fully recite the Codex of the Prophet.

  Luck alone had allowed Yakim Douan to continue his reign in that instance, and so when he had risen to Consciousness at the tender age of ten, one of his first edicts was to change the strata at Chom Deiru, the Chezru Palace, putting those whose power was closest to the Chezru Chief­tain out of the loop, removing personal ambition from the formula in times of Transcendence

  „The Room of the Morning Sun is prepared for breakfast?“ Yakim asked.

  „Yes, God-Voice.“ Merwan Ma was careful to avert his eyes as he spoke. „But you have risen late this day and I fear that the room is already heated beyond comfort.“

  „Yes… well, then have my food delivered here.“

  „Yes, God-Voice.“ Merwan Ma bowed quickly and turned to leave, but Yakim called out after him.

  „Have a second meal delivered, as well. You will dine with me this morn­ing, I think. We have things that we should discuss.“

  „Yes, God-Voice.“

  Merwan Ma hustled out, and Yakim Douan nodded knowingly at the tremor in his last answer. Merwan Ma had always enjoyed sitting with Yakim - the two had become friends of a sort, a mentor-student relationship - but Mer­wan Ma knew now the reason for the invitation. Yakim wanted to speak with him about Transcendence again, about the Chezru Chieftain’s impend­ing death and the duties that Merwan Ma must carry out perfectly during the time that would follow, the Beheading, it was called, a period when the Yatol Church would be without an official leader, when the Yatol priests would rule by consensus and were bound to make only little changes in standing policy.

  Yakim Douan was glad that his talks about the time of Transcendence so unsettled Merwan Ma. That revealed the young attendant’s love for his rhezru master, and that love, Yakim believed, would help to carry them both through the vulnerable few years they must face between Yakim’s death and his subsequent ascension.

  jVlerwan Ma returned a short while later, along with several younger at­tendants, all bearing trays of fruits and seasoned cakes, plates and fabulous utensils, and pitchers filled with many different types of juice. They quickly set the table at the northern window in the circular chamber, the one af­fording a spectacular view of the Belt-and-Buckle Mountains, towering black stone and white snowy peaks. The Belt-and-Buckle was the most im­posing range in the known world, with few passes, and even those full of danger, rockslides and avalanches, great bears and cats and other monsters more dangerous by far. The view of the range from Yakim Douan’s palace displayed that awesome power in all its glory. That view, with the sun splayed on the eastern slopes and shining on the white caps, and with the dark shadows looming behind every jag, was considered quite spiritual by most who looked upon it. For the Yatols in particular, it held a reminder that there was a greater power than any they might witness in the domain of humankind. It was a spiritual and humbling view - humbling even to im­mortal Yakim Douan.

  When the pair sat down, the attendants hustled all about, pouring juice and serving the food, but Yakim Douan waved them away and ordered them out of the room. A couple of them hesitated, staring at the Chezru Chieftain with confusion, even disbelief, for they customarily served through­out the meal.

  „We are capable of pouring our own drinks,“ Yakim Douan assured them. „And of cutting our own fruit. Now be gone.“ He ended by waving his hands at them, and they skittered away.

  He looked back to Merwan Ma, smiling, and noted that the young man seemed to want to say something.

  „You will speak openly at this meal,“ he instructed, and Merwan Ma shifted uncomfortably.

  Yakim went quiet then, but didn’t begin eating. He just sat there staring at his attendant, his expression prompting the young man to speak out.

  „You wish to discuss your death again, God-Voice. I am not fond of this topic.“

  „Everyone must die, my young friend,“ said Yakim, and he smiled in­wardly at the irony of the statement.

  „But you are still a young man,“ Merwan Ma blurted, and he lowered his eyes immediately upon saying the words, as if he believed that, despite Yakim’s claim, he had overstepped the bounds of propriety.

  „In my bones, I feel the weight, the wrath, of every year and every morn-mg,“ Yakim replied with a warm smile, and he put his hand on Merwan Ma’s forearm, comforting the younger man.

  „But God-Voice, you seem as if you are surrendering to age without a fight.“

  „Do you believe in the Revelation of Yatol?“ the Chezru Chieftain said suddenly, sternly, reminding the student of who he was, of his - of their - supposed purpose in life. The Revelation of Yatol wa^ the binding force of the Yatol religion, a promise of eternal life on the Clouo-oLChfez, a place of Paradise. All of the rituals and practices, all of the codes of behavior that governed the Yatol religion were based upon that promise.

  „Of course, God-Voice!“ Merwan Ma retorted, blurting the response with surprise and horror.

  „I am not accusing you, my son,“ said the Chezru Chieftain. „I am merely reminding you. If we are to believe in the Revelation of Yatol, then we should accept the onset of death with open arms, confident that we have lived a life worthy of the Cloud of Chez. Am I to be sad, then, to think that Paradise is soon to be my home? „

  „But we do not ask for death, God-Voice - “

  „I know, however, when death begins to ask for me,“ Yakim Douan in­terrupted. „This is part of my station, to understand when death approaches so that those around me - so that you, Merwan Ma - can begin their prepa­rations for the search for the new God-Voice. Do you understand?“

  Merwan Ma lowered his
eyes. „I am afraid, God-Voice,“ he said.

  „You will not fail.“

  „But how will I know?“ asked the young attendant, looking up suddenly at the Chezru Chieftain. „How can I be sure that I will select the correct re­placement? It is a terrible burden, God-Voice. I fear that I am not worthy to bear it.“

  „You are,“ Yakim Douan said, laughing. „The child will be obvious to you, I assure you. When I was selected, I was reciting the entire Fourth Book of Prophecy.“

  „But could not a mother so teach her young child, if she wished him to ascend? „

  „I had not yet seen my second birthday!“ said a laughing Yakim. „And I could answer any question put to me by the Yatol Council. Do you doubt that they chose correctly? „

  Merwan Ma blanched.

  „It is not an accusation, my young friend,“ said Yakim. „It is merely a re­assurance to you that you will know. Your predecessor voiced similar con­cerns… so I have heard,“ the Chezru Chieftain quickly added, for how could he have firsthand knowledge of what Merwan Ma’s predecessor might or might not have said?

  „Even so, God-Voice“ the obviously nervous Merwan Ma continued. „Once the child is found -

  „Then your duties are clear and with many recorded precedents,“ Yakim Douan interrupted. „And those duties are minimal, do not doubt. You will watch over the child and see that he is well cared for through the early years of his life. Not so difficult a job, I would say.“

  „But what of his training? Who will tutor the new God-Voice in the ways

  ofYatol?“

  Yakim Douan was laughing before Merwan ever finished. „He will tutor you, if y°u so desire! Do you not understand? The child will be born with full consciousness, and full understanding of all that is Yatol.

  „Do you doubt?“ the Chezru Chieftain asked into Merwan Ma s scrunched-up face. „Of course you do!“ Yakim added to alleviate the tension before it could ever really begin. „Because you have not witnessed the miracle of Transcendence. I have, firsthand! I remember those early days well, and I needed no tutoring. I needed nothing, just the climb to Consciousness, and by that time, I understood everything about our beloved Chezru, both good and bad, better than any of those around me. Fear not, my young friend. Your time of indenture in the house of the Chezru Chieftain is to end in scarcely more than a decade, it would seem.“

  If those words were of any comfort at all to Merwan Ma, he didn’t show it; in fact, his expression revealed just the opposite.

  „You know this to be true,“ Yakim prompted.

  „As with your anticipated death, it is not a subject I am comfortable dis­cussing, God-Voice.“

  „Ah,“ Yakim answered with a great laugh, and again he patted the young attendant’s arm. „You are to serve me, and then to see the next God-Voice to Consciousness, and then you are freed of all responsibility to the Chezru. That is the way it has always been, and the way it must continue to be.“

  „All that I love -

  „That does not preclude you from joining Chezru more formally,“ Yakim went on. „In truth, I would be sorely disappointed if you do not pursue your calling to piety. You will make a fine Yatol, my friend, and as such, will prove a valuable asset to the next Chezru Chieftain. Why, I have already penned a long letter to my successor and to the Yatol Council expressing my beliefs in your potential.“

  That seemed to calm Merwan Ma considerably, and he blushed with em­barrassment and lowered his eyes.

  Just the effect Yakim Douan had hoped for. He truly liked the young man, and would indeed miss him when he came to Consciousness in the next incarnation. But on this point of ritual, Yakim had to hold fast. He couldn’t take the chance of keeping one as bright as Merwan Ma around for too long.

  Familiarity might bring danger.

  Merwan Ma made his way through the great columned hallways of the airy palace. The whole of the place was made of stone, mostly marble, pink and white and the subtle pale yellow of Cosinnida marble from the south. The many columns, ridged and decorated, were of the type that came from the northwest, from the foothills of the Belt-and-Buckle near the border­land of Behren and To-gai. This stone was the brightest white of all, but streaked with red veins throughout, so much so that it appeared to Merwan Ma as if red vines grew all along the columns. He could almost envision large grapes hanging from the vine, ready to pluck and savor.

  Merwan Ma’s sandals were leather, and not hard-soled, but his footfalls echoed along the vast chambers of the palace, where every ceiling was deli­cately arched to catch the sound and roll it about. The young attendant often lost himself on walks such as this, wandering the great ways past the inspiring tapestries and the amazing mosaics tiled on the great floors. On such jaunts, he felt alone in the vast universe, and yet at one with it, as well.

  He needed that now, that comfort that he was part of something larger than himself, larger than human flesh. His master had done it again, an­other conversation about the God-Voice’s impending death. How could the Chezru Chieftain be so calm about that? How could he speak in such com-monsensical terms about the end of his life?

  Merwan Ma gave a great exhale, thoroughly jealous of his master, of any man who could be so at ease with mortality. Merwan Ma was a dedicated and pious Shepherd, a rank above the common Chezru folk but a rank be­low the Yatols. He prayed every day, and followed every ritual and precept of the religion. He believed in an afterlife, in a reward for his good behav­ior. Truly he did. And yet, how pale his convictions seemed next to the supreme calm held by Yakim Douan!

  Perhaps he would come to such a place of tranquillity as he aged, Mer­wan Ma hoped. Perhaps he would find a day when he could so easily accept the inevitability of his own death, when he could be so confident that one journey was ending only so that another journey could begin.

  „No,“ he said aloud, and he fell to his knees briefly and pressed his palms against his eyes, prostrating himself on the floor, an expression of submis­sion, obedience, and repentance for his last thought. He could never find a place as content as that of the God-Voice! He could never come to under­stand the mysteries of life and death as the Chezru Chieftain, and he alone, obviously understood! Not in this life, at least. Perhaps enlightenment awaited him on the other side of that darkest of doors.

  With another deep breath, Merwan Ma pulled himself up from the floor and resumed his journey. He was late, he knew, and the others were likely already gathered about the sacred chalice, the Chezru Goblet, in the Room of Forever. Mado Wadon, the overseeing Yatol, had probably already pre­pared the sacrificial knife, filling its hollowed hilt with the oils of preserva­tion. But certainly, without Merwan Ma there, the others had not begun the bleeding.

  Yakim Douan continued to enjoy his meal at the northern window, star­ing out at the towering majestic peaks. He knew what was going on in the Room of Forever, and he knew well the ultimate danger to him and to his secrets whenever the seven gathered for the ritual. But the centuries had taken the edge from the Chezru Chieftain concerning this anxiety. He had watched the bleeding closely all those early years, centuries before when he had instituted the ritual.

  No, not instituted it, but merely altered it to cover his secret. Since the beginning of Yatol, the selected group had kept the sacred Chezru Goblet filled with their blood, standing in a circle about it and taking turns slicing their wrists until the deep and wide chalice was full to the appointed line. That ritual of blood-brotherhood and the resultant pool of blood had proven to be a wonderful binding force for Yakim Douan, for embedded in the base of that sacred chalice was a single gemstone, a powerful hematite. When Yakim added his own blood to the pool, every week immediately fol­lowing the bleeding ritual, he somehow created a bond to that embedded hematite that he had learned to exploit from a great distance, from the other side of the palace, even. That was important to Yakim, not because he often utilized the hematite, but because he understood that if a sudden tragedy should befall him - the dagger of a rival, perha
ps - he would be able to establish enough of a connection to the hematite to free his spirit from his dying corporeal form.

  The only real danger to Yakim, then, came during the process of chang­ing the blood pool, for though all of the attending bleeders would be blind­folded and instructed, strictly so, never to glance into the chalice, one look with the blood level low might be enough to arouse great suspicions. For the Yatols were not fond of gemstones, magical or not, and to see one em­bedded in their most-prized religious symbol, the Chezru Goblet itself, would strike a sour note in the heart of any true Yatol. Gemstones were the province of the hated Abellicans to the north, the source of Abellican magi­cal powers, and for centuries, since before Yakim Douan’s first ascension even, the Yatol priests had denounced the enchanted stones as instruments for channeling demon magic.

  Seeing a gemstone - and a hematite, a soul stone, at that! - embedded in the base of that deep chalice would bring about questions that Yakim Douan did not want to answer.

  But the Chezru Chieftain held all confidence that it would not come to that. In all the nearly eight hundred years he had been secretly using the magical hematite, the blood level in the chalice had only dropped to a re­vealing level once, when a young Yatol priest had inadvertently tripped and spilled the contents.

  That unfortunate Yatol, so flustered, so horrified by what he had done, hadn’t even paused long enough to consider the ramifications of what he had seen. He had only stammered apology after apology when Yakim Douan had come upon him, to find him kneeling on the bloody floor and crying, his head in his hands. He had begged forgiveness frorti the God-Voice, even as Yakim’s knife had reached for his unprotected, undefended throat.

  That one had died confused.

  Yakim Douan shuddered at the memory of that awful day. He had never wanted to kill the man, but so much had been at stake. How could he jeop­ardize his own theoretical immortality, centuries of life, against the few de­cades the poor fool might have remaining?