A Broken Paradise (The Windows of Heaven Book 3) (39 page)

“I don’t understand. We came to Akh’Uzan to take refuge from the evils of the world. How else could we have survived?”

The Old Man smiled. “How else indeed? There’s the quandary—or part of it. Of course, we need our refuge in E’Yahavah. Everybody needs a place of rest and protection. But the walls of that refuge need gateways that allow mercy and truth to go out and penetrate a cursed world—to keep bad things from getting worse and right things from becoming unthinkable in the closing minds of men, who are already naturally drawn to evil. That takes a divine perspective in all of reality—not just in ‘spiritual’ areas.”

He stared beyond the trail ahead, as if remembering. “
Once it looked as though the culture was a lost cause, we wanted to save individuals. But individuals aren’t restored in a cultural vacuum. As time passed, our clan isolated itself too much. We saw how the Orthodox of Seti had been swallowed up by worldly ambitions, so we went to an opposite—and ultimately just as disastrous—extreme: We stopped taking reasonable risks.”

“Weren’t we driven? Weren’t we forced to retreat? It’s not fair to lay the whole thing on us!” Tiva didn’t understand why she felt so defensive. It was not
as if she had been there when all the tough decisions went down.

A’Nu-Ahki reached over and squeezed her shoulder gently. “I’m not laying it all on us. Of course
, we were often driven, and much of what happened to us was unavoidable because of it. We suffered and grew strong, but we began to take pride in our spiritual strength, and that was our downfall. We looked down on new generations that had never heard the truth because their parents had neglected to teach it to them. We despised the way they dressed—the way they behaved—their lack of common sense—but we stopped trying to understand and reach them.”

He laughed in a way that somehow seemed
to Tiva more like a deeper kind of weeping. “We found our refuge in Akh’Uzan, and slowly stopped seeking refuge in E’Yahavah. We surrounded ourselves with the taboos and sacred words of the Sacrifice and the Work. We comforted ourselves in an illusion of spiritual purity, when we had forgotten the substance of it long ago.”

Tiva said, “You keep saying ‘we.’ You never did this.”

A tear ran from his eye as the cart navigated another hairpin turn. “My kindly daughter, how I wish that were really so.”

iva often volunteered to care for the elders and T’Qinna to avoid her husband’s shipyard frowns. He seemed to treat her like an intruder rather than a helper in his work. T’Qinna was getting back on her feet anyway and even worked a couple days a week inside the great ship’s crew suite.

Tiva enjoyed the relative solitude, though she felt uncomfortable around the Ancient. Today Muhet’Usalaq insisted on walking down to the village not long after the others had left for work. She sensed something was up, but as usual, nobody had bothered to tell her what.

She slowly shuffled down the trail with her arm looped around the Ancient’s. His large tufted brows arched higher than usual, and the white of his hair fluttered in the gentle breeze around his deeply furrowed brown skin. His icy blue eyes seemed harder than she had ever seen them.

Tiva was sure that the Ancient merely tolerated her most of the time. She suspected that he still saw her as a “whorish woman on probation” or something. He never said bad things to her. He never said anything at all. At times
, she wished he would just call her a bad name, so she could be sure. Yet he kept silent in his ancient world long dead, and let her dutifully guide him. At least he wasn’t mean as she thought he was, back when he was just “the Old Crow” to her and Farsa. If he thought bad things about her, he kept them to himself. Tiva was almost certain he thought them, though.

The trail began to hug the rock outcropping as it turned toward the Shrine. Tiva heard angry shouts ahead, and tried to slow the Old Man down.
He pulled away from her, and began to speed up, scraping toward the noise at a remarkable pace.

When Tiva caught up to him, she pulled him to a halt
, come what may. He did not object. By now, they could see the commotion.

A detachment of Dragon-slayers stood before the Shrine, ceremonial spears outstretched against A’Nu-Ahki and his sons. U’Sumi covered the Shrine guard with
his not-so-ceremonial automatic hand-cannon taken from the wreck of Samyaza’s “Phoenix Fleet” command astra many years ago.

“What’s going on?” Tiva said, more to herself than in expectation of an answer from the Old Man.

Muhet’Usalaq deigned to speak to her. “Trouble! I’ve sent A’Nu-Ahki to retrieve the Treasures and Atum-Ra’s cask, which are rightfully his.”

The context for Noah’s education was harsh—a confining ark in the midst of a world-destroying flood. An equally shocking and harsh program of education will also be called for in our own time. Once humans set themselves up as gods, they don’t want to settle for less. How will we be able to convince people that they cannot have every comfort they desire, or possess or consume whatever delights their eyes? How will they become willing to limit their goals to more modest levels? At issue is a reorientation of our most basic vision and a transformation of our most fundamental practices. Is there a way to think and act beyond the paradigm of human exploitation?

—Norman Wirzba

Caring and Working: An Agrarian Perspective

17

Barque of Aeons

Not even the forest birds broke the tense silence that fell on the foothills trail in front of the Shrine Cave.

“Gentlemen,” A’Nu-Ahki said, for the second time, “I have here the key to the Shrine and the Sanctum. The Charge of Iyared still binds me as keeper of the things inside. The time has come for me to reclaim custody. The Ancient gave it to your leader in my absence on
only a temporary basis, and on condition that when the time came I would be able to reclaim what was deposited.”

Tiva saw her brother Yargat step out in front of his guard contingent. He shouted, “We do not recognize the claims of heretics!”

A’Nu-Ahki seemed unperturbed by her brother’s insult. “Even if I were a heretic, the writ of custody still rests with my house, and the tokens would be recognized in any Magisterium of Seti. Not even the Archon can annul the deathbed charge of one of his fathers, even if he can reinterpret everything else away into oblivion. I don’t want trouble, but I am asking you one last time to stand aside according to lawful authority. If this erupts into violence, no court in the land will convict me for claiming what is mine from those who would rob me.”

A dark figure rounded the corner on the trail from the village, and came to a halt. Tiva had not seen her father’s face in many years. She began to quiver all over, driven all the madder by the fact that neither her father nor brother seemed to take any notice of her at all. The only consolation was that she was apparently not alone here. Henumil scowled at his son, the Dragon-slayers, and A’Nu-Ahki all with seemingly equal disdain.

Henumil growled. “I came as soon as I heard. What goes on?”

Yargat cried,
“The apostates have come to steal away the Treasures that protect our valley!”

Henumil looked to A’Nu-Ahki. “Why now?”

“The time draws near. The place aboard the ship has been prepared for them. Iyared gave me the charge, and you gave the Ancient your word.”

Henumil folded his arms. “The Ancient I will recognize,” he cocked his head toward Muhet’Usalaq, “despite his weak mismanagement of this valley. But you are nothing but a heretic.”

U’Sumi cocked his hand-cannon, but Henumil did not budge.

Tiva almost ran into their midst, afraid to watch either her old or her new family die in bloodshed, but the Ancient held her back with a surprisingly strong grip. She glanced up into his eyes and saw a fatherly protectiveness there she did not expect.

A’Nu-Ahki signaled for his son to lower the weapon.

Muhet’Usalaq quietly motioned for Tiva to stay where she was and then shuffled out into the forefront. “I knew you would break your oath,” he shouted when he came to a halt before Tiva’s father.

For a second Henumil looked down, as if unable to face the Ancient One squarely in the eye.

Muhet’Usalaq said, “Henumil, son of Urugim, I gave you a chance to share in the holy charge given us by Iyared, and shared by your ancestor with honor. Not only do you seek to break your oath to me
, but you have
mismanaged
the keeping of these tokens by turning them into stinking idols! Do you think I have not followed closely the way you have made out this shrine to be some kind of talisman against World-end? Praying to Atum-Ra and these relics, which can neither hear, nor speak, and thinking that you reach to the spirit of the First Father—what nonsense!”

Yargat trembled, and sidled up to the Chief Dragon-slayer. “Father, do you not see? Even the Ancient has turned from the ways of the Fathers. He utters blasphemy!”

“What do you know about the ways of the Fathers, you little sludge rat?” bellowed the Ancient. “I stood before Archon Aenusi, who learned from the lips of Seti and Atum-Ra himself, when he yet ruled as Archronos in Sa-utar! I saw the early fathers teach and make judgment! The idea that Atum-Ra’s own descendants would ever pray to him or his corpse, as if he had god-like power, would have been repugnant to him, and to all that knew him! My father would have found it even more revolting.”

Muhet’Usalaq pushed Yargat aside with remarkable strength, and shuffled right up to Henumil’s face. “As for burning incense to those relics—you, Henumil, ought to be old enough to know that such a thing has never been done. You have taken
sacred things intended to tell a history, and degraded them into good luck charms, as do the sons of Qayin with their superstitious icons of stone, gold, and wood. Surrender them up, for you are not worthy to hold them any longer!”

Henumil tremble
d with a pent-up fury Tiva found all too familiar. For a moment, she was sure he would order his Dragon-slayers to attack.

U’Sumi raised his weapon again. This time A’Nu-Ahki did not order him to stand down.

Finally, the Priest-Dragon-slayer spat, “Let them take the relics!”

“But Father?” wailed Yargat.

Henumil placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, and barked loud enough for everyone else to hear, “Their ship, much as it is a fool’s enterprise, lies high and dry in the valley. The relics will rest for awhile inside the ship—still in the valley, and thus still able to protect us. After World-end sweeps away all but Akh’Uzan, and neither flame nor water touches that giant casket, we shall go out to demand back what the Fathers intended for all of our comfort. And if they will not give it then—then that ship truly shall become a giant casket!”

Yargat wept.
“But the Shrine!”

“We still have the stele of Seti’s Code, and the pedestals that have been sanctified by the relics. These shall serve temporarily.”

“But who will leave offerings to see pedestals?”

Muhet’Usalaq spa
t, and turned back to Tiva. “Your ancestor would disown you, Henumil! And you would deserve it far more than this precious girl-child you cast out! Why don’t you pray to him, and see?”

Tiva’s heart felt
as though it would stop.
The Ancient thinks I’m precious?

“I pray to Urugim all the time,” replied the Priest, maintaining the pious, persecuted quiver in his voice that Tiva knew so well
, from when he used to talk about the holy martyrs of Regati. “I pray that your brother would speak the truth back into your heart.”

“You never knew my brother—or the truth!” Muhet’Usalaq said, as he pulled Tiva along back up towards Q’Enukki’s Retreat.

U’

Sumi’s voice called,
“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Tiva slowed her pace, and looked up at the
forest’s arching green branches overhead. Truth was she didn’t want to do anything of the sort.

She paused on the trail to let her brother-in-law and his wife catch up. Tiva turned to answer him, “I think I need to. But if the walk is too hard on you, T’Qinna, it can wait.”

U’Sumi’s wife laughed—with both sides of her face nearly back to normal. “I’m okay now. Besides, I didn’t even work today. What I don’t understand is why you feel so strongly about these people—especially after what they did to you—and not your parents.”

Tiva turned again to the trail. “My father made it clear where my old family stood the day he surrendered the Relics.”

U’Sumi said, “Your father didn’t seem to notice you at all that day. He might not have spoken to you because he was focused on my father.”

“He noticed. Besides, he told me long ago that I was dead to him.”

Tiva turned down the side path to Grove Hollow. It was late enough in the afternoon that the regulars would be gathering, but not so late that the people she wanted to see most would be too far-gone to talk.

When they entered the clearing, Tiva was shocked at how much the place had changed. Garbage was strewn everywhere
, and most of the moss between the fire-pit and the waterfall pool had died from more than two decades of ash and heavy traffic. Several of the Witchy Girls skinny-dipped under the falls, while some unfamiliar boys gathered wood for the fire.

A lone figure sat on a log, staring off into space. Tiva had seen Farsa at a distance a few times in the marketplace, but never up close since the night she fled the Hollowers. Her old friend’s red hair had grown stringy and hung in her eyes. Farsa didn’t even notice Tiva’s presence until she stood right in front of her.

“Farsa?”

The woman on the log looked up, a puzzled frown on her dirty face. “Well, I’ll be a skunk-toad. It’s good to see y
a, Tiva. Where ya been?”

The shadow of U’Sumi and T’Qinna on either side must have given sufficient answer.

“Oh, yeah.” Farsa shook her head as if to clear it. “I gotta tell ya, I’m real sorry about what happened the night you left, Tiva. I’ve been meaning to take a stroll over to your—your sh-ship place, but one thing sorta leads to another and…”

Tiva smiled. “It’s okay, Farsa. Sorry I hit you. I know that you at least never meant to hurt me. You didn’t know what was really happening.”

Farsa gave a tired laugh. “Funny, that’s what we all said about you afterward—but I know what you mean, and yer prob-ly right.”

Tiva gathered her courage. She heard the noise increase over by the waterfall, and glanced
in that direction to see what the commotion was. One of the Witchy Girls was pointing at her and shouting back into the woods on the other side of the stream.

“Do you and Moon-chaser still go up to the Wisdom Tree?” Tiva asked, wondering why any of the Witchies should care that she had shown her face again at the Hollow.

Farsa shrugged. “Me, not so much. I left Varkun last year, so some of the Zakes are mad at me—except for Sariya and my brother—though they both still go quite a bit. The only thing Vark’s good for is the moss, but life’s more than rolling the moss and doing seer’s button festivals, ya know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So, are you here to tell me all about World-end, or something?”

Tiva squatted down to Farsa’s eye level. “There’s not much I can say that you don’t already know deep down, except…”

Farsa met her eyes fully. “Except what?”

Tiva almost tripped over her tongue. “Except that these people I’m with now, they’re not like the other Lits—all fake and stuff. They really care
, and they don’t hold a person’s past against them.”

“What about a person’s present?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Tiva noticed Sariya, with an escort of Witchy Girls, cross the stream past the pool.

“People have choices
in the present.”

Farsa saw the others approach too
, and scrunched her mouth. “Yeah, well, I heard that choice is an illusion, so we can all pretend that we’re in control of our lives. I already know I’m outa control—so there you have it.”

“So was I, Farsa.”

“Look, I like you for trying. But let’s not. Okay?”

Tiva hung her head and changed the subject. “How’s Tsuli?”

Farsa glanced again at Sariya and the Witchies. “She should be on the trail, coming up from academy. You might catch her if you leave now.”

“But I want to talk to you some more.”

“Leave now!” repeated another voice.

Tiva stood up and faced Sariya. Her old friend was unrecognizable, with lines of crude geometric scars cut into her face and arms, and her head shaved bald. Even more hideous, one of Sariya’s breasts was missing. Tiva stared her down. “I’m talking to Farsa. What business is that of yours?”