Yet the Jew seemed different today, softer. Perhaps it was simply that he wasn’t talking so much.
Down in the arena, they brought in the great statues of Mahava and Magehna. Magehna was squatting, in her divine position of elimination, and Mahava was standing imperious, above it all. They looked like Fiore, naturally, though taller and lighter of bone, with the smooth, round features that My Lord had learned to recognize as a standard of beauty. The statues were made from stone, and the great carts that wheeled them groaned under the crushing weight. Around the statues were piled displays of the meager harvest of Fiori: sheaves of their plant staple, gha, berries, and newly sacrificed animals, including dressed Fiore carcasses. On Earth, it would have been impossible to conceptualize having every remotely edible thing on the planet in attendance, but here they could manage it, though not easily. Some of the foodstuffs had been brought from around the world, traveling as long as several years to get here. The seas on Fiori were notoriously treacherous and the land endlessly dull and unsustaining. The crowd stood and cheered at the bountiful display.
My Lord, more to keep Aharon calm than anything else, explained the ritual to his guest. He told him the story of Mahava and Magehna, his wife, who shat out Fiore.
Aharon questioned him with a frown, “You told me that you thought the souls who were embodied here were…”
“Gevorah/chochmah.”
“Yes. I was reading about that in your manuscript.”
My Lord was surprised at the mention of the work. He kept forgetting it was here. It was another incongruous bit of the past that didn’t fit into the present.
“If the religiously strict of Earth reincarnate here—” Aharon said.
“Not just Earth, from all over the ladder.”
“Yes, but some are from Earth.”
“Probably.”
“So how could they worship these idols? If they were so rigid in their faith, wouldn’t they worship the One True God here as well?”
My Lord snorted incredulously. “What do you expect? That they’d call Him Yahweh? Make him look like a long-bearded human patriarch?”
The Jew looked embarrassed. “No… but… but there are two of them, and one is a female. Shouldn’t they at least be monotheists?”
“Should? According to whom? Females are extremely valuable on Fiori. The death rate in childbirth is around fifty percent. And Fiore are dependent on each other to live. No one stands alone here—not even God.”
My Lord realized the Fiore in the box were looking at them. It made no sense for him to be arguing with his messenger, even if they couldn’t understand what he was saying. And then there was Tevach, who could understand… Better not talk to Aharon at all.
With the statues in place, Argeh rose and voiced a long prayer over them, exhorting Mahava’s mercy on even the most loathsome and worthless parts of His creation. Then he left the box, going down to the arena where they were swearing in fifty new members of the priesthood. It was a coveted position on Fiori. They didn’t break their backs cultivating the soil, didn’t starve. Only the most fervent applicants made it through the winnowing process. Even My Lord, who, after thirty years, still appreciated the sight of the Fiore but little, was moved by the group’s fierce bearing. For the crowd the new priests stripped to the waist and beat themselves with scourges as they chanted in a low guttural that sounded like one continuous growl.
This was mild stuff compared to what was coming. My Lord snuck a look at Aharon to see how he was handling it. The Jew was staring down at his hands, his chest shaking. At first My Lord thought, disgusted, that it was tears, but then he realized it was the strain of being upright, even in the chair. My Lord wondered how long Handalman could hold out and when it might be expedient to have Tevach get him out of here. A heavenly being that slumped to the ground would not impress anyone.
My Lord beckoned to Tevach and the little mouse crept up. My Lord whispered instructions in his ear and Tevach took a seat behind Aharon, used his strong paws on Aharon’s shoulders to pin him back in his seat, take off some of the strain. Aharon shot My Lord a grateful glance, then returned his gaze to his hands.
The new priests assisted in the interminable service that followed—prayers of humiliation and the standard exhortations against sin, especially against the houses of ill repute, disobedience to one’s superiors or the church, and the eating of one’s own children. The crowd sat through it impatiently, waiting for the “good part”: the bloodletting.
The arena had been set up days ahead. The devices they called hechkih were already in place—large X-shaped structures with pyramid bases that functioned as places to mount bodies for torture and exposure and, eventually, served as roasting stakes as well. In anticipation of the latter their bases had been painted black with a flammable pitch. Now the prisoners were led in, stripped of all but undergarments, faces miserable and petrified. They cowered like the terrified animals that they were… all except a group of males who looked around at the crowd defiantly.
Argeh had returned to the box. He gave My Lord a suspiciously smug look before addressing the crowd.
“The Holy Book says that we must be ever diligent in our battle against corruption! We are born corrupt, and unless we redeem ourselves through the necessary toil we die corrupt! We must ruthlessly seek out corruption and excise it from our society. If we do otherwise, the Holy Book tells us that we will sink down into the filth for all eternity!”
My Lord wanted the Jew to hear this. If he heard, he might understand where they truly were—why any lie was justified. He motioned to Tevach and instructed him to whisper a translation of the speech into Handalman’s ear. Tevach seemed distracted. He had a desperate look as he gazed into his master’s eyes, and My Lord was reminded of the episode this morning—something about one of the heretics. He shook his head in a strong negative to tell Tevach this was not the time, to do as he was told.
“All of the prisoners here today have violated the sanctity of Mahava!” Argeh spit onto the ground, showing his disgust. “They have disobeyed His teachers and His holy pronouncements. Instead of striving to raise themselves up, they have fouled themselves further, and in the process they have fouled us and Fiori…”
My Lord looked at Aharon, who was shaking again. His face was red with the effort of holding himself upright, even with Tevach’s help. But his eyelids flickered as Tevach’s words registered. My Lord turned his gaze back to the arena, satisfied.
Let him chew on Argeh’s mentality for a while. Let him choke on it.
The group of prisoners My Lord had noticed earlier began wrestling with their guards. They had no hope of escape, of course, shackled as they were, but they succeeded in making a scene. The male in charge of the group raised his bound hands in a gesture of command.
“I demand to speak! I ask to be heard!”
My Lord waited for Argeh, with a motion, to order the guards to pull him back in line. Instead, Argeh hesitated, his head cocked thoughtfully to one side.
“I am so moved to let you speak,” Argeh said, and he sat down.
Stunned silence. Around the arena, the crowd was absolutely quiet. The high priest? Allow a prisoner to speak? My Lord gripped the arms of his chair, knowing that something was terribly wrong. He recalled the challenging look Argeh had given him earlier. About me—somehow, this is about me.
My Lord half stood, but he could not think of an excuse to interrupt. And then the heretic was speaking in a loud and fiery voice.