Paradox - Progeny Of Innocence (bk2) (Paradox series) (3 page)

The Crossing was a sacred place, where it was said the Dreamtime Spirit Gods had stood and parted the lands. The Dreamtime God of Earth stretched out his long finger and drew a line in the sand to mark the place where the vast red desert lands ceased and green mountain ranges began. Then the Spirit God of Water, with just one of his tears, created a raging river in the deep line drawn by his brother’s finger. With just seven strands of their long hair, the Dreamtime Gods made a braid and constructed a bridge that stretched across the fathomless waters from one side to the other. So the dreamtime legend went.

The Bakhna people stood, adorned in their shiny new beads, and began the last of their journey home. In a long single file they crossed the long rope bridge that stretched high across the raging waters below. Then, one by one, they followed a winding path under the lush canopy of ancient rainforest trees, past bubbling streams where they knelt and drank. Some caught fish that they baked over small fires at night, wrapped in leaves from the banana tree. They bathed in crystal clear pools beneath waterfalls that fell from the heavens. On the fourteenth day, when the sun was perched at its highest, they finally reached home, the summit of the An-nasr Mountains.

Soon, the grassy paths became wider, and were lined with monolithic human figures carved in stone, statues of the ancient Bakhna people. Small stone housing structures spotted the hillsides. Further still, and higher in the mountains, the ancient Kingdom of the Bakhna people clung precariously to towering rocky peaks. The highest of the majestic towers were all but hidden away by a bank of massing clouds.

All at once they were greeted by a swarm of Bakhna village people who ran down the grassy path, calling in voices eager with delight. The brightly colored bells in their long silver hair rang out noisily. The massive eagles had brought the message, that some were coming home.

It was warm on the summit, the day the weary travelers arrived home. Summer had a little way to go. But the air was beginning to crisp at the end of each passing day, and the giant eagles had begun to fill their feathery winter coats in preparation for the turn of the season. In the days that would shortly follow, the green mountain peaks, swathed in a dense palette of earthen and rainforest tones, would be covered by a soft blanket of pure white snow.

* * *

Abaddon found Keyla beyond beautiful, just as Temulun had surmised. "Come to me," he demanded of the tiny silver-haired girl.

She did not move. Temulun gave her a gentle shove. "Keyla, the master beckons you, go," she said, urging the girl forward.

Keeping her face lowered, the girl stepped forward hesitantly.

Abaddon grasped her chin in his hand and forced her face up toward his. "Look at me," he demanded abruptly.

She raised her eyes and looked at him. He could feel her tremble beneath his grip. Staring into her watery blue eyes he studied her, reading her.
Please don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me
, she chanted silently to herself
.
Abaddon smiled. Obviously a virgin, he thought to himself. ‘
It will hurt a little, precious one, but I will be gentle
,’ he said silently to her. Abaddon smiled then, and released his grip on her chin. The girl gasped in horror and her eyes opened wide. The bells in her silver hair whispered in tiny crystalline sounds as she jolted her head back and out of his reach.

Abaddon smirked and turned, returning his attention to Cerberus. Temulun was still busily removing the protective armor from Cerberus’ shoulders and untying the leather straps that bound and covered his muscular arms. The silver armor, worn by all Grigorian warlords, depicted Apep, the snake god of darkness and chaos.

"Why do you toy with the child?" Cerberus inquired idly. "Wouldn’t a woman more suit your needs, my brother? This girl, perhaps," he said, motioning toward Temulun as she continued to remove the heavy armor from his shoulders.

Abaddon raised his eyebrows. "This girl," he said, looking at Keyla once again, "is no younger than fourteen, far from a child, my brother. Do not be fooled by her shortness of stature and childlike features. It is an honor to lie with royalty. Who am I to deprive anyone of such an opportunity?" He chuckled, and turned on his heel to face Temulun once again. "Escort Lord Cerberus. He is to be bathed, fed, and prepared for his good wife, the gracious Lady Pandora."

Cerberus raised his hand. "Nonsense, do not bother with such things, my brother," he said as the last of his armor came away in Temulun’s practiced hands. "Prepare food, a live beast most certainly. And have a hot bath drawn and scented with the oils from rose petals. A drink from our finest would not be turned away." He wiped a hand across his lips as his mouth moistened with saliva. "Firstly, though, please take care of my armor," he said, indicating his belongings scattered on the floor. "The bathing, however, I will tend to myself. I am sure my good Lady will be only too pleased to honor me with her presence."

Abaddon stifled a cough with the back of his hand and said, "I am sure when the Lady hears of your early arrival she will fall over herself with eagerness to please you. She has been such a bore, fretting endlessly for her Lord's safe return."

Temulun glanced sheepishly from Abaddon to Cerberus, wondering if Cerberus had fallen for such a fanciful lie.

Cerberus turned toward her, and she quickly dropped her gaze. "This body aches for a hot bath, girl. Run the bath, and then fetch my food."

"As you wish, my Lord," Temulun said as she scooped Cerberus’s scattered belongings up from the floor. She quickly handed the lighter items to Keyla. "Let us go now," she whispered to the girl. Keyla followed Temulun swiftly down the long stone corridor, glad to be away from the prying eyes of Abaddon. When they were completely out of sight Temulun turned toward her. "You did very well, Keyla, Abaddon suspects nothing. You have him completely fooled. Just remember, though, when he summons you, and he will, to place the powdered mistletoe beneath your tongue and he will be unable to read you, the scent will leave his ability to read useless for half the hour. You must remember that, child, half the hour. No more. You will be able to coerce him during this time. You have been blessed with the gifts of the ancients, little one."

Keyla nodded agreeably. A small smiled lifted the corners of her delicate lips, but soon fell away. A solid timber doorway with brass reinforcements swung ajar to let them pass.

"Why thank you, Keyla, your gifts are plentiful," Temulun smiled.

"You are welcome," Keyla replied politely.

Temulun stopped beside a girl busily polishing a huge mirror edged with golden leaves in a stone and timber lined room. Heavily embossed furniture lined long timber dining tables. Jeweled candelabras hung from thick wooden beams overhead.

"Leave that for now, Saran. Lord Cerberus returns, and is in need of a hot bath before he welcomes his Lady. And use the rose petals…" The girl did not move. "Do it now, Saran. Hurry along, will you," Temulun said, raising her voice to express the urgency of her request. She rearranged the burden of the weighty armor in her arms.

"Yes Temulun," the girl answered quickly, then scurried away to prepare Lord Cerberus his bath. What an honor, she thought, giddy with excitement.

* * *

Saran would tell own her embellishment of the story later that evening around the family dining table. How the Lord had personally requested that she prepare his bath. How she had bathed the mighty Lord Cerberus, and oiled his naked flesh with her own two hands. How she had refused the Lord’s continual advances for her to join him in the warm sweet-smelling water. She had declined, of course, and had promptly reminded the Lord that his good Lady wife had fretted many days waiting for his return.

"The Lord," she said, "although disheartened by my refusal to join him, knew that I was correct. But that did not stop him from kissing me feverishly." She paused for effect, then, when all eyes were upon her she continued. "He begged that I should not stop kissing him, that my kiss was most gentle and the sweetest thing he had ever tasted." Saran touched her lips softly with her fingertips. Her two younger sisters hung off every word that Saran spoke, their eyes and mouths wide with wonderment. "Tell us more, Saran," they pleaded with their sister.

Her father scoffed. "Shut your traps," he said angrily to his two younger daughters. "Unless, of course, it is your desire to catch flies. And you," he turned to Saran. "Don’t be such a stupid girl. No one, other than these two numbskulls, believes such fanciful stories. Now sit down and eat your broth, your mother has toiled over it since full sun, and I will not see it go to waste."

Saran sat herself down, pulled a knob of bread from a loaf, and dunked it into her broth with her fingers. "It is true, just as I tell you-"

"I will hear no more of your lies, girl, now eat," her father said, annoyed at her persistence with the matter.

Saran squirmed uncomfortably in her seat and scowled. Why could her father not let her be with her fantasies, she thought bitterly to herself. She retrieved the soaked piece of crusty bread from her bowl of broth with her fingers and popped it, dripping, into her mouth. Her two sisters giggled noisily between themselves and squabbled over the last piece of bread. Saran glared at them, and stuck out her tongue.

"Papa," the younger girls whined, scowling at their sister.

"Less talking and more eating," he said, slurping a spoonful into his mouth, "and let an old man eat in peace. Mother," he beckoned to his wife, "please come sit, and eat with your family."

* * *

Temulun and Keyla continued down the long stony corridor. Faces from days past, with yellowish eyes, glared at them from giant tapestries and life-sized oil paintings. Keyla cringed as the eyes followed her every footfall on the polished stone floor.

They walked out onto a covered pathway toward a heavy timber door with thick iron brackets and hinges. It swung open easily without a touch.

A hot blast of seething heat burned their cheeks and stole their breath as they walked hesitantly inside. The walls of the dimly lighted room were almost completely covered from top to bottom with the glistening armor of Grigorian warriors past and present. Long timber benches lined the stone walls, with an assortment of metal tools, wooden bowls, squat round glass bottles filled with oils and animal fats. Leather and brass strapping and the tools of an armor-smith cluttered the thick wooden shelves. An olive-skinned boy with a long black braid coiling down his back pounded noisily on a sheath of steel over a blazing fire. Sweat ran unrestrained down his face and chest, staining the front of his worn leather apron. He stopped and looked up, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead with an oil-stained chamois. His youthful body smelt ripe with the scent of oils and sweat. Temulun breathed him in and held her breath.

"What brings you in here, Temulun," he began, smiling. "Keyla," he said, nodding toward the smaller girl. Then a glint from the steel she held caught his eye and he looked down in awe at the shimmering sword lying across Temulun’s outstretched arms. His mouth fell open but was empty of words. He recognized the sword instantly, and rushed forward to take it from her. He ran his fingers gently down the length of the shimmering, razor-sharp blade, making it sing in a high-pitched tone. The sound resonated eerily off the stone walls, as though summoning the lost souls that had fallen victim beneath its heavy blade.

"This blade was forged by the hands of the ancient Altairian Gods. The hands of the Gods, do you hear me?" he said, hugging the heavy weapon tightly to his chest. He closed his eyes and muttered a quick prayer in his native tongue, then quickly moved away to place the sword lovingly on the animal pelt covering his long timber bench, as a mother would a babe. "This is truly an honor," he murmured to himself as he began studying the intricate details of the lethal masterpiece that had been passed down from one Altairian Royal Guard to another over the centuries. "An honor," he repeated as he began busying himself with the cleaning of the gleaming blade. "Leave the other pieces on the bench over there," he jabbed his outstretched finger toward another bench without removing his eyes from the bloodstained sword. Then he went about his business, polishing and muttering in the ancient language of his people, the Khnum River People in the east lands.

"Well it does not rest in the hands of the Gods any longer, now does it, Bakari," Temulun said angrily.

The boy glared at her with a stern look on his face. "You should not be saying such things, Temulun. It is not safe."

Temulun sighed. "You are quite right."

"You should go now," Bakari said, dismissing them. "I am busy here; we will talk later tonight, under the Great Oak at the edge of the forest."

"If I have nothing better to do," Temulun replied curtly. "Come," she said to Keyla. "Let us take leave of this stupid boy with his shiny new toy." They walked from the room, glad to be free of the stifling heat from the blazing bowl of hot coals and flames in the windowless room. They welcomed the touch of cool air on their faces as they walked out across the cobbled courtyard toward the outdoor pantry to fetch Lord Cerberus his beast. Lush green pastures speckled with long swaying blooms surrounded the open-air pantry and perfumed the air. Lambs frolicked playfully. Ewes grazed lazily, ignorant yet blessed with the lack of intelligence to question.