Retribution

Two Gods

The last few rays of the day’s sun skimmed across the low slate rooftops of the prefecture, and the hills in the distance were now dark shadows. We walked through the streets, navigating by the answers of locals towards Bishop Tahn Valin’s temple. A gong was struck several times a few streets away, the sound carrying along the quiet lanes amidst the scent of woodsmoke from the evening fires.

The bishop’s home and place of worship was like those dedicated to Polla that I had seen in Tryum recently, a fact that unsettled me at first. I had expected a different religion — different gods in a different country — for it to have its own identity. Set back from a busy street, it was a large rectangular building made from stone, with reliefs along the top and a triangular pediment at the front, with two columns on each side of a large wooden door. I stared up at it, and for a moment it felt as if I were back at home.

As we climbed the steps towards the door, we were presented with small statues of two very different gods. A woman’s torso blended into the legs of a horse; a male god’s muscular torso met with the lower half of a fish. Both of them carried glaives and directed them to the heavens.

‘Can I help you?’

A man marched towards us, a stern look upon his aged face. He wore layers of claret-coloured cloth — from tunic to cloak — though there was no emblem or markings on his clothing. He was a stout individual, with grey hair and tired-looking, but very searching eyes. He had the air of someone who had been through a great deal of stress.

Turning towards him, I made sure he could see the brooch of the Sun Chamber on my chest.

‘My name’s Lucan Drakenfeld, and this is my colleague, Leana,’ I began in Kotonese. ‘We’ve been asked to investigate the matter of Bishop Tahn Valin.’

‘Ah. My name is Priest Damsak. We should talk somewhere more discreet.’ He held my elbow gently and steered me into the temple, all the time looking about him as if he had reason to be worried.

Inside, statues of the strange animalistic man and woman were repeated, and in every instance they maintained the same half-horse, half-fish representation. Rows of cushions and small rugs were arranged for the congregation to sit or kneel upon. Thick tapestries hung from the walls, each one depicting strange scenes featuring the same male and female gods, some versions with them in armour, some naked.

‘Which gods are these?’ I asked.

‘Astran and Nastra.’ For a moment he lost his sense of fear. ‘The two split aspects of heaven. Astran, she is the goddess of the land, while Nastra is the god of the seas.’

‘On our way here I saw a straw ox on the fringes of Kuvash. There seemed to be some sort of ceremony going on.’

Damsak glared at me. ‘Those are the old gods. The old ways. Such practices ought to be forbidden.’

‘That was nothing to do with your gods then?’

‘It was certainly not. There are unfortunate remnants of a more primitive time. Several old cults use ceremonial sacrifices of livestock where they cannot afford to waste real animals. It is a barbaric practice. It is a commune with the dead rather than the correct way of venerating their spirits.’

I had seen similar religious offerings across Vispasia, particularly Detrata. It didn’t seem so primitive to me, but I put the priest’s disgust down to the fact that it was not something his own gods agreed with.

Damsak let out a sigh and muttered something in a much older version of the language, which sounded very respectful.

‘If I may say, you seem rather concerned.’

‘Why shouldn’t I be after what happened to Tahn,’ he snapped. ‘The man had done nothing to deserve such evil treatment. What if it is someone who dislikes our gods? What if I’m to be next, sliced up in such a manner?’

‘You’re aware of his fate, then?’

He nodded his acknowledgement.

‘What have you been told?’

Changing languages to Detratan, probably so only the learned might eavesdrop, he said, ‘I know only what the authorities have shown me. I believe it is him who has been found — those parts of his arm.’ The priest held out a bony arm, and I could see a similar bangle to the one worn by the bishop. ‘What else can you tell me so far?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know much else,’ I replied. ‘That’s why I’m here. I’ve come to find out more about the bishop and I was hoping you could help the start of my investigation. And the more you tell me, the more I’ll be able to help you in finding who did this to him. I can put your mind at ease. That is,’ I added, now he appeared less on edge, ‘if you yourself had nothing to do with his death?’

‘How could you say such a thing?’

‘Quite easily,’ I replied. ‘We must eliminate all possibilities. You might stand to gain from his death.’

‘On the contrary,’ he replied, a bitter sneer upon his face. ‘With the bishop going, I have no idea what will happen to this temple. I’m certainly not in line to follow someone as grand as a bishop. I have my place and it was by his side. We had plans, next year, to venture from the city on a pilgrimage so Nastra-knows what I’ll do now.’

‘You were going to leave the city?’ I asked. ‘Who else knew about this?’

‘It was common knowledge, as of the last new moon a couple of months ago, when we announced it to our congregation. We said we were going to leave for about a year, taking the practical aspects of our gods further afield, and living in more humble circumstances than this — by the side of the road, or in the houses of whoever would welcome us on our path. The bishop was very keen on this — in his later years he grew increasingly concerned that people needed rescuing from other foul gods. He wanted to help people. He wanted to bring them the comforts of Astran and Nastra.’

The hierarchy of this religion would be easy enough to research to confirm his statement. I made a mental note to send for confirmation of the facts via Sulma Tan.

‘Could someone have wanted to prevent the bishop from leaving the city?’

Damsak looked dumbfounded by the question. ‘If they wanted him to remain, why send him to a different spiritual realm altogether?’

‘He may have been smuggling secrets with him. Documents important to the state.’

‘This is very fanciful.’ Damsak’s expression made it clear he felt the idea absurd. ‘The bishop barely left the temple other than to help the poor from time to time. There were certainly no business affairs.’

‘How well did you know him?’

‘We were as brothers.’ Damsak paused for a moment, and his head turned as if he was listening to something in the distance. ‘Of the priestly kind. We spoke very little about our personal lives, but in our religious community we do not especially have personal lives to speak of. We are known only by our work.’

‘Your work being. .?’

‘In many ways I was learning from Tahn. There are many rituals to perfect, and a common priest like myself only has the authority to conduct a certain number, lest they go wrong. I studied our main texts under Tahn.’

‘You seem rather old to be studying,’ I said.

The priest smiled in a way that suggested he had heard that comment many times before. ‘One does not get access to higher strata of society easily in Koton. My family is from a far lower caste, and related to the Yesui clan, who were not looked upon favourably by our queen’s father.’

‘The Night of the Plunging Blades?’

‘Thankfully not then, which is why they are still here. No. A family name can mean a lot in Koton. Things are easier than they used to be, thanks to the queen. But some of the old ways are still prevalent, and authority is reluctant to give up power.’

‘Even in the house of your gods?’

‘It is perhaps more forgivable in such circumstances. Only appropriate people should be allowed to channel such gods.’

Very convenient for a priest to speak in favour of being a gatekeeper, I thought, no matter how low his rank. ‘How long ago was it that the bishop went missing?’

‘About twenty days ago. It was just after the Service of Remembrance, a day for all fallen soldiers. He conducted a most memorable service.’

‘What were his last known movements? I’d like to know where he went, if he decided to meet with anyone. No detail will be too small for us.’

‘You ask for much.’ The priest gave a sad sigh and sat down on one of the cushions. He gestured for us to do the same, and we obliged — facing opposite him. Only then did I notice the amazingly detailed fresco on the ceiling of the temple — the swirling patterns of the heavens and yet more scenes featuring the two gods.

Then the priest began to provide his verbal portrait of Bishop Tahn Valin.

The bishop had lived in the city of Kuvash for all of his fifty-seven years, Damsak told us. Like all city priests, he lived alone in a room at the back of his temple, so that someone was present even when there was no congregation. He had led a simple life; he was a bookish man who did not eat meat — something that was a sharp contradiction to the rest of Kotonese culture, which thrived on meat. The queen was an admirer of his work and even of his religious and mythological poetry — sometimes she would invite him to her personal court to read it aloud at banquets.

‘He was well loved by the community,’ Damsak said with a sigh. ‘People would often leave food offerings at his door — though he never asked for such things — and sometimes he even spent the following hours handing those donations to the poor outside the main gates to the prefecture.’

‘And his final moments,’ I asked. ‘Do you recall them precisely?’

‘The last time that anyone saw him was at the end of his last daily, dusk sermon — on the remembrance evening. People left one by one and he went alone to the back of the building — as he had always done. I heard him go into his quarters and I left him to it while I went to mine.’

‘And he just vanished?’ I said.

Damsak nodded. ‘When I knocked on the door later that evening, to ask if he would like a cup of wine to help him sleep, he gave no reply. I went in, and his room was empty.’

‘You heard nothing?’

‘No. Though my quarters are on the other side of the temple, and I liked to leave the bishop to his quiet contemplation. He was due to rise early, you see, to take alms to the poor. And so. . I really cannot see why someone would be so. . vicious as to butcher him in this way.’ The priest paused to make a circle with his hand above his head. ‘What ill times we live in. .’

Damsak’s face once again exhibited the distress of someone who felt like he was being hunted.

‘What did you do when you didn’t find him?’

‘I did little that night. He might have gone for walking meditation about the city. It was only in the morning, when he still had not returned, that I contacted the City Watch.’

‘Is it possible he left his quarters willingly, then?’ I suggested, leaning back on my hands. ‘To meet someone else?’

‘Very much so, though he’d have no reason to,’ Damsak replied, somewhat confused. ‘Anyway, as I say, I contacted the Watch and they must have notified the various authorities within the queen’s palace. I heard very little. I maintained everything as it was here and wrote to the elders within our organization, to keep them informed. After that matters were kept out of my reach — they were not for me to know. The bishop had gone, and that was that.’

Only to be later returned in pieces. If the priest’s account was completely true, then there was only a small window of time that night in which the bishop could have been taken. It was possible that the killer invited the bishop outside, but that sounded unlikely. What was more probable is that the killer was all too aware of the bishop’s movements. He knew exactly when to strike so as to cause minimal fuss — it had all the hallmarks of a well-planned assassination, by a killer who was familiar with the bishop’s routines, and who had easy access to this prefecture. The idea that someone would send an assassin to kill a simple bishop did not make sense, unless the priest was only giving us part of the picture. He might not have known all of it himself.

‘May we see his room?’ I asked.

‘Of course.’ Damsak rose with ease from the cushions, and I followed with a grunt.

Despite being far younger than the priest, I was going to find it difficult getting used to the Kotonese custom of sitting on the floor and getting up again.

I could almost hear Leana’s thoughts: You’re too soft.

We were led into the small living quarters at the back of the temple, and Priest Damsak lit the candles on the wall mounts. Frugality did not seem to adequately describe this place — in comparison, my current rented accommodation was fit for a queen. Here was just a small bed in one corner, an old oak table at which he must have dined and worked — judging by the ink pots, candle and plates — and a rug across the flagstones. The handful of books on a shelf beside his bed were theological texts.

‘He wasn’t much one for furnishings or ornaments,’ I said, thinking how the room was too dark at this hour for a thorough search. I glanced up to a simple leaded window above the bed.

‘We do not encourage trinkets,’ Damsak replied. ‘Tahn always said that one cannot take trinkets to the heavens. Other than for purposes of identification, generally speaking our organization does not approve of such things.’

‘What about lovers?’ I asked, wondering if the priests were celibate like some other religions. ‘Was there any woman or man in the bishop’s life we should know about?’

The glare I received was expected. ‘No. We do not socialize in such a way. There is too much work to be done and lovers can be something of a distraction from our cause. They are frowned upon.’

‘What exactly is your cause?’ Leana asked.

‘The work of Astran and Nastra, of course,’ he replied with a peaceful expression.

I followed up Leana’s line of approach. ‘That work being. .?’

‘Guiding souls to the heavenly realms, ensuring that their lives are led in the appropriate way so that they may attain as fine a position in the next world as possible, and divining from the texts what people’s right course of action should be. We have a focus on helping farmers to nurture the land and occasionally we go out to bless their fields.’

‘No, the day-to-day work,’ I replied. ‘What did the bishop actually do as a priest?’

‘Sermons, administration for the temple, alms for the poor — though much of that was conducted in Tahn’s private time. Generally we ensure that Koton’s spiritual needs are met.’

Vagaries. This was all I was going to get for the time being, so I let the matter pass. Perhaps Damsak would warm to the matter over time and divulge something that was out of character for the bishop, but at the moment these descriptions of habits weren’t helpful.

‘Who came to this temple?’ I asked. ‘Just those from this prefecture?’

‘Oh no. Those who can prove themselves honourable are permitted at certain times to attend religious services. The gates are opened and individuals vetted. Occasionally we might take our teachings to the street in the hope that we can steer one or two less fortunate souls onto a firmer, more divine path.’

‘And he was the only bishop in the city — no rivals tucked away elsewhere?’

Damsak gave a gentle shake of his head. ‘No rivals, no other bishop.’

Looking around, the place was too bare. I could perceive no blood on the floor or walls, nothing to suggest a struggle. I casually tested some of the walls for a loose block, though there were none, and the flagstones were sound underfoot.

‘Has anything been touched since the bishop’s disappearance?’

‘Not at all,’ Damsak replied. ‘This is the first time I have really set foot in Tahn’s quarters since the incident. It still does not feel right for me to do so.’

Judging by his tentative movements, the fact that he loitered in the doorway, and the concerned look upon his face, he was probably telling the truth. The bishop really did live in such a pure way.

‘If you could see to it that this room continues untouched for a few days, we’d be most grateful. It is likely we will want to return.’

‘Of course. I shall see to it that it is not disturbed.’

It is not as though I’m inclined to distrust a priest on instinct, but I thought it prudent for the rest of the day to interview people around the temple — metal traders who were going about their business, bread merchants, weavers — and visit any other place of interest I saw nearby.

The surrounding lanes were well maintained, just as the rest of the prefecture. Walls displayed occasionally decorative frescos, but the colours of the street were simple and bold — red, blue and dark-green paint covered columns and walls alike. It was gaudy compared to the austere surroundings of the temple. Animal motifs had been painted in gold, each one a sublime representation of that creature in a noble pose — a far cry from the severed heads we sighted as we entered the city. It was remarkable how little graffiti there was, too — barely an insult or curse to be seen anywhere. Leana remarked to me how unusual it was to keep two sides of a city apart from each other. Even in Detrata, where the contrast in wealth between rich and poor could be enormous, there was no such barrier.

By going door to door I was able to confirm some of what the priest had told me. The people I spoke to were generally welcoming, offering us tisanes as they went about their business in shop-fronted houses or under awnings. As I had hoped, a few of the traders frequented the temple for various religious festivals and to make donations for quiet contemplation. Everyone here knew of the bishop’s disappearance, but not everyone knew of his death. Those I informed of the news appeared distraught at first, and made signs in the air as they attempted to stifle their emotions.

The much-admired bishop had indeed declared his plans to leave the temple, much to the community’s disappointment. He had been a kind and gentle soul who, unlike other bishops they had known, always took the time to explain some nuance of the gods Astran and Nastra, whether to an old veteran who had recently converted from one of the old gods, or a curious young child. He came across as a very pure being, had never said a bad word, possessed inspirational oratorical skills and ensured that any donated food — once offered to the gods for the first bite — was then distributed among the poor of the external prefecture. The bishop had hoped, so everyone said, to live to a great old age so he could dedicate many more years of service to Astran and Nastra. It was even why he wanted to go on the road — to bring more people into the fold of the enlightened religion, to do more good.

This had not been a wasted afternoon by any means, but as Leana and I walked away from the streets surrounding the temple and we watched the last rays of the sun vanish over the prefecture walls, I felt vaguely dissatisfied with what everyone had told us. The bishop appeared very pure, too pure, and not one of his neighbours could give me any insight into why anyone would want him dead.