Now that
the temple was built, Zarek proclaimed a day of feasting and celebration. He sat at the head of the gathering with the
other village men around him. Scanning
the crowd, he noted the placement and those who were present. As usual, his gaze returned to the hunched
shoulders of the head priest. Rarrok
looked something like a vulture as he sat in the gloomy shadow.
The man
seemed to be thinking very deeply as he brooded over the cup of wine in front
of him. This fish cape which usually
flashed in the brilliance of light, was darkened by the shadows in which he sat
in.
Zarek felt
a moment of unease, the others may not sense it as he could, but the tension
was thick and heavy between them. Sargon
seemed aware of it, and watched the head priest with a wariness that belied the
indulgent smile on his lips. They both
knew that Rarrok wouldn’t allow such contradicting actions go without a
challenge.
The feast was reaching its conclusion when Rarrok
stood to his feet. The sudden movement
made his fish cape ripple violently, and Zarek looked at him with some surprise,
before quickly schooling it into a guarded frown. The head priest’s sullen expression had
melted into one of good will, and he smiled at the young chief warmly. Suspicion flared in the back of Zarek’s mind.
Those who
had gathered fell silent, for it seemed as if the priest would speak. They were all curious as to what he would say
and Rarrok smiled at them, his previous anger and irritation seemingly dissipated.
“Our young
chief has risked the wrath of Apsu, to honor Dagon,” the priest paused and
waited for the murmuring of the people to die down, eventually lifting a
hand. When it was silent once again, he
continued. “I have been wrongly jealous
of Apsu. He is of equal important to
Dagon, and our young chief was right to build a temple to his honor.”
Zarek
nodded once to acknowledge the repenting admission.
The head
priest’s soul focus was on him as he lifted his wine goblet. “I would like to show my allegiance by
presenting this goblet of wine, which has been blessed by the gods.”
Zarek felt a sudden grip on his
shoulder. It was just as quickly gone
and his eyes flitted to Sargon who stood at his side. The guard’s eyes flashed of warning. Zarek could feel the stares of the villagers
as they waited for his reaction. Slowly,
he stood to his feet and Rarrok held out the cup for him to take. Zarek knew what was the expectation was, and
he was determined to meet it.
He
inclined his head with some benevolence.
“I accept your allegiance. I harbor
no feelings of resentment. In token to
the truth of my words, I will allow you to sip first, the wine blessed by the
gods.” He smiled as he saw Rarrok’s
confusion.
Nonetheless,
the head priest was persistent. Rarrok
bowed even lower, still extending the cup to him. “I wish for my chief to take the first sip
and receive the blessing.”
Rarrok’s refusal
proved Zarek’s suspicion. He smiled
again, but his voice was cold when he spoke. “You are kind.
But I am starting to feel that the gods have not really blessed this cup
of wine. Perhaps, they have cursed it
instead.”
Rarrok
looked up, alarm and surprise evident in his features. He made an effort to smooth this away and
made another attempt. “But why, oh
chief, would the gods have cursed it?
After all you are favored by them.”
Zarek
smiled condescendingly, “By them perhaps, but not by you. You have refused to take the first sip that I
offered you, so now I command you to drink from the cup.”
Rarrok
sputtered as his face became slimy with sweat and the grease paint that he had
decorated his features with. “I cannot
drink first.”
“And why
not?” He looked at the circle of village
men who sat watching. The men were tight
and still with tension, hardly even breathing.
“Because,
I do not believe it would be honoring to you, oh chief!”
Zarek
looked straight into the priest’s face.
“I will not drink from this cup of death. But you will.”
Rarrok
faltered and took a step back, realizing that he had been discovered. “You cannot force me.”
The head
priest’s attempt of refusal was a weak one and Zarek looked at him
scornfully. “I will give you one of two
choices. You may either drink the wine…
or choose the sword. Which will you
choose?”
“You
cannot have me killed,” Rarrok shouted, but his voice wobbled and almost broke.
Zarek’s
stared at Rarrok with an unfaltering gaze.
“Choose.”
Rarrok’s
face turned purple from rage and he threw the goblet of wine to the
ground. The sand soaked up the blood red
liquid quickly, as if hungering for more.
“No one would dare to kill the head priest; I alone have the ear of the
gods.”
“No one
can claim that,” Zarek replied.
Rarrok
turned and pointed his finger at every man sitting in the circle, “If you slay
me, my spirit will haunt you and you will be cursed forever. You will never prosper.”
“Just like
you said that we all would be struck by lightning?” Zarek’s eyes narrowed. “I think not.” He turned to address Sargon and the men of
the village. “Who will slay this false
priest and those who serve him?”
Fear
flickered across the faces of most of the men.
It was one thing to go against what a priest said, but to slay such a
holy person? It was unthinkable. There was a hiss of steel and Sargon stepped
forward with his sword, “I will slay the enemy of my chief.”
In unison,
the two other guards drew their sword.
Rarrok let out a terrified screech before Sargon rammed his sword into
the head priest’s stomach. Rarrok’s bald head looked upward, his mouth open in
a silent gasp. Then his head rolled to
his chest. Sargon twisted his sword and
the priest’s body swayed like a limp doll before dropping to the ground. Red blood spilled across the sand.
The guards
gave a chilling howl and turned on the fleeing priests that had served with
Rarrok, cutting them to pieces with a sword.
The crowd parted and some fled themselves.
At length,
the bodies of nearly a dozen priests littered the ground and blood rushed over
the rocks. Zarek commanded them to be
taken from the village and burned. He was
quickly obeyed. At last his mother had
been avenged.
The
following day, Zarek had sent his guard to call the people together. As he stood before them, he noted the unease
in their faces and the questions they wished to ask.
It was Sargon
who addressed them. “Rarrok the head
priest tried to slay our chief. For his
treachery, he and his attendance were slain.
We acted in accordance to the will of the gods.” He moved to the side for the chief’s address.
Zarek
stepped forward, the uneasiness had vanished from their faces. “Those of the priesthood must be replaced, I have
appointed a new head priest.” At this he
beckoned a young man forward; a cousin of Natan’s who was even more studious
and religious than Natan himself.
“This is
Paliya, the new head priest.” The crowd waited
in a moment of silence, before they nodded in approval. He had chosen wisely, Paliya was well favored
because of his honesty and goodwill toward others. Paliya was also devoted and unswervingly loyal
to any authority placed over him, a characteristic that pleased Zarek.
“Paliya
will be choosing men among you, to serve in the temple. If you do not wish to serve in the temple,
then another can be appointed. If you
desire to serve with Paliya, you may consult him.” He dismissed them after that and the people
went away talking excitedly. Paliya
humbly bowed to him before leaving for the temple, followed by one of Zarek’s
own personal guards.
He watched
them go before he turned. Natan was
standing there waiting. A feeling of unease broke over Zarek as he
greeted him, before speaking further. “Are
you going to serve with Paliya?” He
hoped to make his question impartial, but it sounded flat and burdened in his
ears.
Natan gave
him a lopsided smile, “I had thought to, but I am not sure that is where I can
serve you the best. My duties in the
temple would be many and it would vary too much from yours. We probably couldn’t spend much time in each
other’s company.”
At this
point, Zarek felt it would be selfish if he pressed his friend to remain with
him. He forced a smile, but his throat
hurt, “I will not ask you to give up your will for mine. If you desire to serve in the temple, you
have my blessing.”
A look of
relief washed over Natan. It was probable
that he would make a better priest than a warrior.
Zarek interpreted
the expression as his friend’s decision to serve with the priesthood. He nodded once, and feeling the conversation
to be ended, he moved to return to his hut.
“Zarek?”
The call
was so soft that Zarek had to turn back to his friend to be sure he had called
him. Natan smiled at him, “How could I
be happy knowing you weren’t? I have
made my decision; I will stay by your side.”
“But
Natan,” he started to argue.
“No
Zarek.” Natan face turned serious. “I gave my word now. Surely you would not force me to break it.”
Zarek
couldn’t help but smile in relief. He
clasped his friend’s forearm and they departed.
He was pleased with the day’s events, and he felt the burden on his
shoulder’s slip, just a bit.
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