this to spite me.”
“Please, Jomath,” said Recanna, twisting in his grasp. “You don’t have to be so rough. You’re right. We’ve sinned. But at least allow Bant to be the first. We’ve waited so long.”
“Don’t speak to me of waiting,” Jomath said, his teeth flashing white. “I’ve wasted far too much time searching these shadows for you. Resist if you like. I find it more pleasurable if you struggle.”
“No!” Bant shouted, rushing toward his brother. He punched Jomath in the back with all his strength. His older brother spun around, using his free hand to punch Bant on the jaw.
Bant hit the ground hard, his mouth full of blood. The teeth on the left side of his jaw wiggled with sickening ease as his tongue brushed against them. When he tried to rise, Jomath kicked him in the belly, forcing his breath out in a painful gush. Jomath kicked him in the guts again and this time Bant vomited, choking on the bile. Unable to breathe and with stars dancing before him, Bant clutched dirt in his fists. He struggled to make his legs obey him. His hate was like a thousand whips lashing him, driving him. Bant had been beaten by Jomath before, but this would be the last time. Bant had no doubt that if he could reach Jomath’s windpipe with his fingernails, he would gladly rip it out. Yet his body betrayed him. He remained glued to the ground.
Recanna screamed. Jomath silenced her with a punch then threw her down beside Bant.
“I’ll kill you,” Bant whispered through bloody lips.
“Empty threats.” Jomath lowered himself to his knees before Recanna. Recanna was groaning, barely moving, as Jomath parted her legs. He glanced over at Bant and said, “Watch. You might learn something.”
Bant spat at his brother, but the blood-darkened spittle landed on Recanna. Bant closed his eyes tightly until all he saw was a wall of red, a sea of blood. He imagined Jomath drowning in such a sea.
Then, far away, a man shouted and a woman screamed, not in pleasure but in panic. Quickly, the other villagers echoed the scream. Bant opened his eyes to find Jomath standing, ignoring Recanna, and staring off toward the village.
Across the fields, a bonfire rose from the heart of the village.
“This will have to wait,” Jomath said, and raced away.
Bant crawled to Recanna’s side. Together, they helped each other sit up. Recanna was weeping, her body heaving with great sobs.
“Oh, what have we done?” Recanna moaned. “This has all gone so wrong. Oh, Goddess, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Bant looked her in the eyes, trying to show courage. “This isn’t our fault,” Bant said. He prayed it was true. “Come on. Let’s see what’s happening.”
He helped her to her feet. Grabbing her by the wrist, he guided her from the orchard, picking up speed and breaking into a run as they cleared the low branches and reached the freshly plowed field. Alone, Bant could have outpaced Jomath, even with his head start. Jomath had gotten all the brute strength in the family, but Bant’s slight, wiry build made him the fastest runner in the village. He slowed his pace, not wanting to leave Recanna behind. In truth, he wasn’t eager to discover the source of the evil that gripped the village this night. Could Recanna be right? Was this their fault?
At the edge of the village square, Bant stopped, drawing back in fear. Harnessed to a nearby wagon stood a gigantic black dog, as big as an ox. It was the biggest beast Bant had ever seen, save for a brief glimpse of a sun- dragon that had once flown high over the village.
The dog regarded Bant with a casual eye. Its huge pink tongue hung from its mouth as it panted, giving it a friendly, bemused expression. The dog’s breath was foul, filling the air with a rotten meat stench. Bant kept his distance from the creature as he led Recanna around the edge of the square to join with the crowd of villagers.
The crowd consisted of the village men, all three score of them. All were still naked from the sowing. The women stood on the nearby hill, clutching their children to them. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the temple of the Goddess. The structure sat in the heart of the village. Its wooden columns were the ivy-covered trunks of ancient trees, and its walls were dense hedges. It held the most sacred artifact of the village; a carving of the Goddess, taller than a man, resting on a pedestal that was once the stump of an enormous oak.
Flames engulfed the temple. The fire roared with a noise like heavy rain. The stone steps leading up to the temple interior were covered with offerings: baskets containing bundles of fresh spring ramps, loaves of brown bread, and a catfish as long as a man’s arm. The woven reed baskets curled and warped in the heat of the blaze.
Then, from the smoke and flame rolling from the temple’s entrance, a giant stranger emerged, rudely dragging behind him the voluptuously carved mahogany statue of the Goddess. If the smoke stung his eyes or irritated his lungs, the stranger gave no sign. Nor did he cringe from the terrible heat. He kicked away the offerings as he moved forward. He placed the Goddess below him on the stone steps of the temple, moving her heavy wooden body as if it were weightless.
Confused voices ran through the crowd. Had this stranger set fire to the temple? Or was he saving the Goddess from the blaze?
The crowd fell silent as the stranger straightened to his full height, easily ten feet tall, his shoulders broad, unbent by fear or labor. Despite the commandment that no cloth could touch flesh on this night, he wore a black wool coat that hung down to his heavy leather boots. His skin, stained by soot, was as dark as his clothes. The only bright things about him were his eyes, glistening beneath a broad-brimmed hat. His giant right hand held a thick, black book.
In the stunned silence, the stranger opened the book, and read, with a thunderous voice, “THOU SHALT HAVE NO OTHER GODS BEFORE ME. THOU SHALT NOT MAKE UNTO THEE ANY GRAVEN IMAGE, OR ANY LIKENESS OF ANY THING THAT IS IN HEAVEN ABOVE, OR THAT IS IN THE EARTH BENEATH, OR THAT IS IN THE WATER UNDER THE EARTH.”
With this proclamation, the stranger opened his long black coat to reveal a woodsman’s axe, nearly four feet in length, its finely honed edge catching the firelight. It hung from his belt without touching the ground.
“It may be,” the stranger growled, “that you dwell in ignorance, unaware of your sin.” He lifted the heavy tool with a single hand high over his head. “I have been sent by the Lord to show you the way.” The axe flashed down like lightning, splitting the Goddess in twain. The two halves flew apart, clattering on the stone steps..
From the hillside the women began to wail. Even some of the men were weeping. Recanna clung tightly to Bant who felt numb. The Goddess was eternal; she had always dwelled at the center of the village. How could this be happening, unless they were in the presence of something -some god- even more powerful than Ashera?
“Now that this nonsense is behind us,” the stranger said, “the truth shall set you free.”
“Truth?” one man cried, stepping forward. It was Jomath. “You dare speak of truth in the face of such blasphemy?”
“I dare,” said the stranger. “Have care. Do not act in anger or haste. I am a servant of the Lord. He will not allow a hair on my head to come to harm.”
Jomath’s face twisted with rage. His hands were tight fists. But Bant knew his brother well, and could see something in his eyes that others might have missed. Fear. It was on the faces of all the men. Fear of the blasphemy they had witnessed, yes: fear of the coming wrath of the Goddess, no doubt; but more immediately, fear of this giant, this devil standing before the raging flames, his sharp axe gleaming.
Jomath looked back to the men. “Who’s with me? Who will join me in avenging this villainy?”
The men looked down in utter silence.
“Cowards,” Jomath cursed. He turned to face the stranger. “Let the Goddess give me the strength of the storms, the fury of lightning!”
He bellowed with rage as he rushed the steps. He drove his shoulders into the stranger’s stomach with a force that made Bant flinch.
The stranger did not bend. Jomath recoiled from the impact of the blow, stumbling on the steps. The stranger raised his axe. Then, a shout flew from the crowd. A blacksmith’s iron hammer flashed through the air. The heavy tool struck the stranger squarely in the face, knocking him backward. Namom, the stout-armed blacksmith, had hurled the weapon and now charged up the steps. Before Namon reached the man, Faltan, the huntsman, rushed from the edge of the burning temple and threw himself against the back of the stranger’s knees. The stranger staggered forward, allowing Jomath to grab his belt and pull until all three men and the stranger tumbled. Bant had difficulty discerning whose limbs were whose in the cursing ball of flesh and black cloth that landed in the
