Post by Aedh on Jun 30, 2011 9:57:58 GMT -5
I decided to post here a piece which is actually excerpted from "Queen City," but which I think has legs as a short story of its own. Enjoy!
In an age that was ancient to the ancients, there was a realm called Ecgeria, not the largest or most powerful kingdom in the world, but a happy one. The kings of Ecgeria had ruled in the city of Mesembria for a thousand years with the help of the realm’s gods, Maar and Naat. Maar and Naat had no temples but the city and the land itself. They stood on simple pedestals in an open square before the palace in Mesembria: the man-god Maar, sacred in war, and the woman-god Naat, sacred in peace; yet while their pedestals adjoined, they never stood together. In war Maar came to life to lead the king’s army against invaders. As a god, Maar knew all things; the commanders listened to his revelations, the soldiery believed in him, and so Ecgeria’s armies prevailed in the field. In times of peace, Maar resumed his pedestal, becoming like a statue, and Naat came to life to lead the people in the arts and crafts of the people. As a god, Naat also knew all things, and with her guidance, farmers, smiths, weavers, merchants, wives, and tradesmen prospered and made good; likewise, in war, she returned to her pedestal in deference to Maar, so that the presence of two gods at once should never divide the people, and that balance of all things in unity should be preserved; and whether they had any feelings about their separation, none knew.
The gods, knowing all things, knew also that belief upheld them, for they could not help unbelievers; such was the rule of destiny, which itself was no god, but simply the way of gods and men alike, separating what could be from what could not, and moving with force should the balance of all things fall out. All had their place. The king ruled the people; the gods--who knew all things--revealed to everyone in time what was needful to know; the faith of the people upheld both king and gods in their places; and with the gods' guidance, all trod the way of destiny. People came and went over generations, and kings held their rule one after another in Mesembria. The gods Maar and Naat alone remained, for the prophecy of the ancient smith-mages who had made them with enchantment said that Maar could be unmade only by dragon-fire, and Naat unmade only by the fire of Destiny itself. Things seemed safe thus, for there were no dragons long since, and mute Destiny held the secret of its fire. And so, in the days of the king Melq Qurut in Mesembria, descendent of the smith-mages, the balance of things had been kept for an hundred decades, and the kingdom prospered moderately; neither the largest or most powerful--those titles traded hands frequently, elsewhere--but perhaps the happiest.
So things were until one day, after Melq Qurut had been looking long out his window at Maar--for Naat was gone about the business of Naat--the king summoned the priest of Maar before him in audience, speaking thus: “I am Melq Qurut, king in Mesembria, the descendent of forty generations of kings, am I not?”
Replied the priest of Maar: “May the king live for ever, it is so.”
“I have considered. Unlike other realms with periodic troubles, such as Apyria and Symochth and their neighbors away from us, our realm of Ecgeria has been blessed and happy under our rule, has it not?”
“May the king live for ever, it is so. Maar has not stirred since Your Majesty assumed the throne twenty years since.”
“Wherefore, then, should we be jealous of what is ours? Would it not be good to extend the blessings of our realm, bringing the power of Maar and the help of Naat to realms beyond and to other people? As a priest, who alone can commune with a god on its pedestal, I ask you: would this be contrary to the will of Maar, who with Naat knows all things?”
“May the king live for ever! The king does not know all things,” replied the priest of Maar. “That is the province of the gods, who do not consider or believe, because they know, and show their will in due course. They know all things, and know the way of destiny; so that when war is destined, Maar lives, and when peace is decreed, Naat lives. That is the way of it; so it has always been.”
At this, Melq Qurut was quietly vexed, and said: “Priest! I know of Naat, who moves among my people, and I profess faith in Maar, who is like to her, though I have never seen him move. But do you say that I, Melq Qurut, descendant of forty generations of kings, have learned nothing from history and philosophy, the accumulated wisdom of my fathers?”
“May the king live for ever! The gods forbid that any should say so!” said the priest of Maar. “The king has considered. He knows, but also believes. Whosoever believes does not know, for who needs faith in what he already knows? The gods do not consider, nor do they believe. They know. That is why they are gods.”
“Do you say that Maar knows more of war than the king,” the other demanded, “even while he stands speechless and unmoving? And you presume to speak for him, even to the king, saying who knows what comes into your head, sitting day after day contemplating Maar as birds perch upon him and street urchins chase hoops in his shadow? Of what use is the knowledge you profess? Do nothing, do nothing, and do nothing again! Is this wisdom, or senility?”
“May the king live for ever! Though the balance is invisible, it preserves the king’s realm, and averts the weight of Destiny!”
“I should call you insolent, were you not a dotard. Know that I have a visitor at court, the monk Kwan Chu from the temple of Ming Lung in the realm of the Seres, ten thousand leagues to the east. Do you know of this temple? Its precinct is lit by an ancient flame, kindled in a past age from the fire of Ming Lung, last of the great dragons. He carries some of this fire with him.” The king clapped his hands. A strangely-dressed man stood out from the group near the throne, lifting up a lantern; he drew back its shutter to reveal a glow within. The king continued: “Inform Maar, if he can hear, that I desire an expedition to extend the glorious blessings of our realm, and its power. I desire Maar to lead it, if he will. If he will not, I shall cause my royal forge to be kindled from the fire of the dragon, and I shall cause him to be melted down, and his metal forged into swords for an army which I myself shall lead. Then my realm, and all who submit to us, shall have the blessings of Naat and the power of a war commander together at once, and men everywhere shall know that Melq Qurut does not wait on the ramblings of idiot priests. Now go, and bring me the response of Maar.”
The priest of Maar, much disturbed, went out, and sat down before Maar in meditation, and communed, telling Maar what had transpired. But although the priest communed for the rest of the day, and all of the night, and into the next morning, Maar made no response, standing voiceless and still as always. The priest of Maar finally had to return to the king and give his report. So Melq Qurut gave orders, and the royal forge was kindled with the fire of Ming Lung. The king’s workmen came and pulled down Maar and took him to the royal smithy, where the king’s smiths melted him down in the fire from the east, and then set about making the swords the king had ordered.
That both pedestals were now empty, and that the king's forges were very busy, did not go unremarked by the people, or by Naat, who returned to Mesembria to find a gathering of citizens in the square, who besought her, saying: "The King has brought dragon's fire, and has melted Maar for swords for an army to lead to conquest himself. What are we to do?"
Naat looked at her citizens and said: "The king could not have done this unless destiny had made a way, which no man nor god can undo."
"We cannot undo, but we can do," replied the people. Naat's priest said: "The king has unmade the balance of the gods, of peace and war. He now proposes to march eyeless into destiny's way, making war on other realms. What madness is this--the blind led by the mute! Who shall know what is to be done? Who shall say whether, if he survives, he shall not make war upon his own people next?"
"What would you do?" asked Naat of them.
"You are the god of peace, of the people," said the people. The former priest of Maar besought Naat, saying: "You lead us in peace. Lead us now, before war begins, that we may preserve peace, against no foreign foe, but against a royal criminal who is no god but only a man."
"Do you say the Melq Qurut is no king?" asked Naat.
"Qurut is no king of ours!" cried out the people, over and over again, “Qurut is no king, but only a man!” The commotion was heard in the palace, and the king asked his courtiers: "What is the outcry of the people?"
"May the king live for ever," replied the captain of the guard, "the people cry that Melq Qurut is no king, but only a man."
Then the king grew angry, replying: "Then Melq Qurut says that these people are no citizens, but a rabble of traitors. You will lead my soldiers to slay their leaders."
"May the king live for ever, we have no god with us," replied the captain.
"Your god is in your hands, in your swords," said the king, "and he will be with you as you execute these traitors. I, Melq Qurut, will it. Now go, and be swift!"
The soldiers armed and went forth to confront the people, to find them standing with Naat at their front. The captain said loudly: "Hand over to us those who cry against Melq Qurut! Those we will slay with the swords of Maar, and the rest of you will disperse to your homes."
Replied Naat: "Soldiers! For the first time Maar does not address you in assembly, but I, Naat, address you. Think! If you draw your swords it is war, but you know not what is fated, and you must suffer whatever comes. Do you truly wish to make war in the teeth of destiny, whose decrees you do not know?"
The captain hesitated, but another officer, desirous of royal favor, demanded: "Hand over the traitors, or die! As for you, we have melted one god already. Obey the king's order!"
Then Naat began to shine and grow bright and brilliant and hard, and said: "Your dragon's fire is useless against me. Mortals, do you have the fire of destiny?"
"We have the god of war!“ cried some soldiers. “Forward!" ordered the officers, and the solders began to slay the people, who cried out to Naat: "Protect us, oh Naat!"
Then Naat stepped up and slew two soldiers with a blow of her metal arm, taking the swords from both, and did slaughter among the king's soldiers. The goddess moved swiftly, silently, reaping men in blood like grain before the scythe, felling hundreds before they retreated, crying: "We cannot stand before the wrath of the goddess!" But Naat went in to the palace, slaying along the way, even to Melq Qurut on his throne. The king watched as his guards died, with the blood of his captain spraying his robe and his face. Then he stood, facing the dripping goddess, who waited for the king's last words, which came quickly. "Falsely so-called god of peace!" he shouted. "Wherefore do you wield the sword against your own people, and the king of your people, whose forefathers made you?"
Naat made reply: "Of peace, but a god first of all of the balance of things, of which peace is born, and which you destroyed. Not gladly did I slay the soldiers who also believed in me as they believed in Maar who you unmade. Now you shall taste the steel of Maar which you had purposed to kill others."
"You who know all things--know that you too can be unmade and remade!" cried the king. "The fire of destiny waits for you even now!"
"Yes," replied Naat. "But you do not wield it." And with one sword she struck off the king’s head, and with the other spitted it in the air through the skull. Then Naat went out to the square, to where the people were rejoicing, and held up the spitted head of Melq Qurut. But upon seeing her, grim and red, they grew quiet, and in the quiet she addressed them, asking: "Wherefore, people, do you rejoice? You would do better to curse me, for I have killed your king."
Some shouted that they would have a new king, others that they would have no king at all, and yet others that Naat should rule them herself. To that, she made reply: "I cannot rule you. Kings must keep faith, but gods are faithless, although this day destiny has moved to restore the balance. Now who will rule among you is for you to decide yourselves. But know; you must decide quickly. If they have not learnt already by sorcery, king Abim of Apyria and king Shapsh of Symochth will know very soon that Maar is unmade and that with many of his soldiers, Melq Qurut is dead. This land has remained inviolate for a thousand years. Do not think that they will delay the opportunity to invade and plunder it."
"Lead us in war!" cried the people.
"I cannot. War drains my strength. Even now I am wearied, and grow wearier. Maar thrived on it. That was why he led in war."
"You slew the unking and his solders!" called out some people.
"Because they believed, and it was their undoing. Apyria and Symochth have their own gods, Yand and Suptu. They do not believe in Naat."
"What shall we do, then?"
"I cannot tell you. Men know what was; gods know what is, but only speechless Destiny knows what will be."
"Can we not collect the metal of Maar from the king's men's swords, and remake him?"
"No," said a grizzled old man in a leather smith's apron, standing up. "Maar and Naat were forged with enchantment by the mage-smiths of old. The enchantment was broken when he was melted down. You may collect all the metal, but the virtue was not in it. It was in the enchanting, which is gone."
"Is this so?" they asked Naat.
"It is so," she confirmed, laying a hand on the smith's shoulder. "My mate has gone to the abode of the gods, and none may summon him thither but destiny itself."
Some of the people tried to clean the blood from Naat, but while they removed the blood itself, a crimson sheen remained in the metal, of which she said: "You can clean off the blood of men, but not the blood of the stricken balance." For some weeks she remained with the people of Mesembria, teaching and helping to the end. And at length, she was found one morning inert upon her pedestal, and the people knew that war was approaching.
"What shall we do?" the people asked among themselves. There were soldiers who had survived the day of the fall of Melq Qurut, but they held out small hope of prevailing against the invaders. "If only we had Maar to lead us!" said the people, "or Naat to be with us, or even Melq Qurut, as evil as he was! But now we are to be devoured like sheep by wolves!" They besought the former priest of Maar, who consulted with the smith taught of Naat, and the smith said: "Perhaps there is a way."
"What is it?" demanded the people.
"It may be possible to remake Maar. His metal's enchantment was lost when he was unmade. But we still have metal of enchantment. It is the metal of Naat."
"Naat revealed the last words of Melq Qurut to me in a dream," said the priest of Naat. "A god could, if they are true, be unmade and remade. But with no god who knows all to speak, we can only guess at how to accomplish it."
"Must we risk losing Naat as well?" cried the people.
"You began to do the work of gods, confronting destiny by yourselves, on the day that Melq Qurut put you to it by unmaking Maar," said the old smith. "If we do nothing, we shall be conquered and spoiled, and Naat shall remain here bereft, the realm forever out of balance no matter who prevails. If we attempt it but destiny denies the way, we shall still be conquered, but balance shall be restored, and Naat shall rejoin her mate in the abode of the gods. If destiny shows the way, then we can win--this time--and what to do after, Maar should have to counsel."
"So let it be," said the people. "But where is the fire of Destiny to be obtained?"
"That we do not know, having no god to tell us," said the old smith, taking a flint and steel. "But the fire of Destiny is the fire that Destiny makes its own. Who can tell where its choice shall fall? Anywhere--perhaps here, even." And he struck a spark.
The priest of Naat and the former priest of Maar, and the old smith and his helpers, removed Naat from her pedestal and brought her to the smithy. No one was admitted who was not directly concerned with the work. For three days, hammering and the hiss of steam were heard, and for three nights a glow that varied from red to white, even to blue at times, continued, punctuated with mutters, groans, and clanks, and accompanied by the chanting of prayers and spells. Years later, one of the smith's helpers swore in his cups that soon after the work began, Naat came to life in the forge, remaining willingly but in deep agony, gasping out words of guidance to the smith as he slowly hammered her out of existence, and conveying the final spell to the priest. And on the morning of the fourth day, the smithy's door opened, and Maar strode out, looking much as of yore. Under his guidance, the remaining officers summoned what was left of the troops, together with a body of peasants and burghers recruited from volunteers. Now the story the struggle which followed, of Apyria and Symochth, of the battle of Qudrat and the slaying of Tamaz by Afgar and the founding of the Vafadar dynasty in Mesembria, that is told in the book of Shirhanmar; except that book does not tell of the end of the old gods of Ecgeria, which I shall now complete by telling what befell of Maar.
After the ending of the struggle--not truly a war, since wars are between kings and there was no king in Mesembria between the death of Melq Qurut and the crowning of Shahmasp Vafadar--Maar resumed his pedestal in the square before the palace in Mesembria, and from there saw the establishment of new government, not without its troubles, but without war. The people mourned the loss of Naat, since they felt closer to her, but her former priest could only tell them that they could best honor her by remembering the many lessons she had taught them. At length, it was noticed that Maar was acquiring stains on his metal, which could be scrubbed off with care, but which always returned, digging deeper, and eventually causing pits and rough spots. There could be no doubt: Maar was rusting.
The old priest of Maar was now dead, with no replacement, since appointment of the priests had been in the power of the blood of the smith-mages, of whom Melq Qurut had been the last descendent. An oracle was consulted, as well as the former priest of Naat, and the wisdom seemed to be that what had preserved both the old gods was the faith of the people, born of the balance of things; but the rust of Maar, and the troubles of the new government, showed that while one old god remained of the two, the balance could never be well restored. After a great council to debate the matter, the chief of the counsel, the man valiant in battle and wise in youth, who would become Shahmasp Vafadar, said: "We have heard the words of the oracle and of the former priest of Naat, and we have remembered the counsel of the gods. We can do nothing and let Maar rust away, or we can do something, but what? I believe it is this. We can allow Maar and Naat to reunite, finally, in the abode of the gods. It seems that the days when we could rely on the gods to know the way of destiny for us are over, and we must do the work of the gods ourselves, and face destiny without their aid. The work will be hard, but we have no choice; it has been made for us already. When we fail to find the way, and we fall, we may fall further than before; but when we find the way, so might we also rise higher than before, and with wisdom and goodness prove worthy children of Maar and Naat." So he proposed, and it was accepted, that Maar should be melted down again, this time with reverence, and the metal of Naat, of which he had been remade, should be given to armor for the fighting men who held swords of the metal of Maar. So it was done. Thus was the passing of the old gods of Ecgeria, accomplished on the tips of the swords forged by Melq Qurut to his own undoing, and to the future glory of Vafadar. But that is another story.
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In an age that was ancient to the ancients, there was a realm called Ecgeria, not the largest or most powerful kingdom in the world, but a happy one. The kings of Ecgeria had ruled in the city of Mesembria for a thousand years with the help of the realm’s gods, Maar and Naat. Maar and Naat had no temples but the city and the land itself. They stood on simple pedestals in an open square before the palace in Mesembria: the man-god Maar, sacred in war, and the woman-god Naat, sacred in peace; yet while their pedestals adjoined, they never stood together. In war Maar came to life to lead the king’s army against invaders. As a god, Maar knew all things; the commanders listened to his revelations, the soldiery believed in him, and so Ecgeria’s armies prevailed in the field. In times of peace, Maar resumed his pedestal, becoming like a statue, and Naat came to life to lead the people in the arts and crafts of the people. As a god, Naat also knew all things, and with her guidance, farmers, smiths, weavers, merchants, wives, and tradesmen prospered and made good; likewise, in war, she returned to her pedestal in deference to Maar, so that the presence of two gods at once should never divide the people, and that balance of all things in unity should be preserved; and whether they had any feelings about their separation, none knew.
The gods, knowing all things, knew also that belief upheld them, for they could not help unbelievers; such was the rule of destiny, which itself was no god, but simply the way of gods and men alike, separating what could be from what could not, and moving with force should the balance of all things fall out. All had their place. The king ruled the people; the gods--who knew all things--revealed to everyone in time what was needful to know; the faith of the people upheld both king and gods in their places; and with the gods' guidance, all trod the way of destiny. People came and went over generations, and kings held their rule one after another in Mesembria. The gods Maar and Naat alone remained, for the prophecy of the ancient smith-mages who had made them with enchantment said that Maar could be unmade only by dragon-fire, and Naat unmade only by the fire of Destiny itself. Things seemed safe thus, for there were no dragons long since, and mute Destiny held the secret of its fire. And so, in the days of the king Melq Qurut in Mesembria, descendent of the smith-mages, the balance of things had been kept for an hundred decades, and the kingdom prospered moderately; neither the largest or most powerful--those titles traded hands frequently, elsewhere--but perhaps the happiest.
So things were until one day, after Melq Qurut had been looking long out his window at Maar--for Naat was gone about the business of Naat--the king summoned the priest of Maar before him in audience, speaking thus: “I am Melq Qurut, king in Mesembria, the descendent of forty generations of kings, am I not?”
Replied the priest of Maar: “May the king live for ever, it is so.”
“I have considered. Unlike other realms with periodic troubles, such as Apyria and Symochth and their neighbors away from us, our realm of Ecgeria has been blessed and happy under our rule, has it not?”
“May the king live for ever, it is so. Maar has not stirred since Your Majesty assumed the throne twenty years since.”
“Wherefore, then, should we be jealous of what is ours? Would it not be good to extend the blessings of our realm, bringing the power of Maar and the help of Naat to realms beyond and to other people? As a priest, who alone can commune with a god on its pedestal, I ask you: would this be contrary to the will of Maar, who with Naat knows all things?”
“May the king live for ever! The king does not know all things,” replied the priest of Maar. “That is the province of the gods, who do not consider or believe, because they know, and show their will in due course. They know all things, and know the way of destiny; so that when war is destined, Maar lives, and when peace is decreed, Naat lives. That is the way of it; so it has always been.”
At this, Melq Qurut was quietly vexed, and said: “Priest! I know of Naat, who moves among my people, and I profess faith in Maar, who is like to her, though I have never seen him move. But do you say that I, Melq Qurut, descendant of forty generations of kings, have learned nothing from history and philosophy, the accumulated wisdom of my fathers?”
“May the king live for ever! The gods forbid that any should say so!” said the priest of Maar. “The king has considered. He knows, but also believes. Whosoever believes does not know, for who needs faith in what he already knows? The gods do not consider, nor do they believe. They know. That is why they are gods.”
“Do you say that Maar knows more of war than the king,” the other demanded, “even while he stands speechless and unmoving? And you presume to speak for him, even to the king, saying who knows what comes into your head, sitting day after day contemplating Maar as birds perch upon him and street urchins chase hoops in his shadow? Of what use is the knowledge you profess? Do nothing, do nothing, and do nothing again! Is this wisdom, or senility?”
“May the king live for ever! Though the balance is invisible, it preserves the king’s realm, and averts the weight of Destiny!”
“I should call you insolent, were you not a dotard. Know that I have a visitor at court, the monk Kwan Chu from the temple of Ming Lung in the realm of the Seres, ten thousand leagues to the east. Do you know of this temple? Its precinct is lit by an ancient flame, kindled in a past age from the fire of Ming Lung, last of the great dragons. He carries some of this fire with him.” The king clapped his hands. A strangely-dressed man stood out from the group near the throne, lifting up a lantern; he drew back its shutter to reveal a glow within. The king continued: “Inform Maar, if he can hear, that I desire an expedition to extend the glorious blessings of our realm, and its power. I desire Maar to lead it, if he will. If he will not, I shall cause my royal forge to be kindled from the fire of the dragon, and I shall cause him to be melted down, and his metal forged into swords for an army which I myself shall lead. Then my realm, and all who submit to us, shall have the blessings of Naat and the power of a war commander together at once, and men everywhere shall know that Melq Qurut does not wait on the ramblings of idiot priests. Now go, and bring me the response of Maar.”
The priest of Maar, much disturbed, went out, and sat down before Maar in meditation, and communed, telling Maar what had transpired. But although the priest communed for the rest of the day, and all of the night, and into the next morning, Maar made no response, standing voiceless and still as always. The priest of Maar finally had to return to the king and give his report. So Melq Qurut gave orders, and the royal forge was kindled with the fire of Ming Lung. The king’s workmen came and pulled down Maar and took him to the royal smithy, where the king’s smiths melted him down in the fire from the east, and then set about making the swords the king had ordered.
That both pedestals were now empty, and that the king's forges were very busy, did not go unremarked by the people, or by Naat, who returned to Mesembria to find a gathering of citizens in the square, who besought her, saying: "The King has brought dragon's fire, and has melted Maar for swords for an army to lead to conquest himself. What are we to do?"
Naat looked at her citizens and said: "The king could not have done this unless destiny had made a way, which no man nor god can undo."
"We cannot undo, but we can do," replied the people. Naat's priest said: "The king has unmade the balance of the gods, of peace and war. He now proposes to march eyeless into destiny's way, making war on other realms. What madness is this--the blind led by the mute! Who shall know what is to be done? Who shall say whether, if he survives, he shall not make war upon his own people next?"
"What would you do?" asked Naat of them.
"You are the god of peace, of the people," said the people. The former priest of Maar besought Naat, saying: "You lead us in peace. Lead us now, before war begins, that we may preserve peace, against no foreign foe, but against a royal criminal who is no god but only a man."
"Do you say the Melq Qurut is no king?" asked Naat.
"Qurut is no king of ours!" cried out the people, over and over again, “Qurut is no king, but only a man!” The commotion was heard in the palace, and the king asked his courtiers: "What is the outcry of the people?"
"May the king live for ever," replied the captain of the guard, "the people cry that Melq Qurut is no king, but only a man."
Then the king grew angry, replying: "Then Melq Qurut says that these people are no citizens, but a rabble of traitors. You will lead my soldiers to slay their leaders."
"May the king live for ever, we have no god with us," replied the captain.
"Your god is in your hands, in your swords," said the king, "and he will be with you as you execute these traitors. I, Melq Qurut, will it. Now go, and be swift!"
The soldiers armed and went forth to confront the people, to find them standing with Naat at their front. The captain said loudly: "Hand over to us those who cry against Melq Qurut! Those we will slay with the swords of Maar, and the rest of you will disperse to your homes."
Replied Naat: "Soldiers! For the first time Maar does not address you in assembly, but I, Naat, address you. Think! If you draw your swords it is war, but you know not what is fated, and you must suffer whatever comes. Do you truly wish to make war in the teeth of destiny, whose decrees you do not know?"
The captain hesitated, but another officer, desirous of royal favor, demanded: "Hand over the traitors, or die! As for you, we have melted one god already. Obey the king's order!"
Then Naat began to shine and grow bright and brilliant and hard, and said: "Your dragon's fire is useless against me. Mortals, do you have the fire of destiny?"
"We have the god of war!“ cried some soldiers. “Forward!" ordered the officers, and the solders began to slay the people, who cried out to Naat: "Protect us, oh Naat!"
Then Naat stepped up and slew two soldiers with a blow of her metal arm, taking the swords from both, and did slaughter among the king's soldiers. The goddess moved swiftly, silently, reaping men in blood like grain before the scythe, felling hundreds before they retreated, crying: "We cannot stand before the wrath of the goddess!" But Naat went in to the palace, slaying along the way, even to Melq Qurut on his throne. The king watched as his guards died, with the blood of his captain spraying his robe and his face. Then he stood, facing the dripping goddess, who waited for the king's last words, which came quickly. "Falsely so-called god of peace!" he shouted. "Wherefore do you wield the sword against your own people, and the king of your people, whose forefathers made you?"
Naat made reply: "Of peace, but a god first of all of the balance of things, of which peace is born, and which you destroyed. Not gladly did I slay the soldiers who also believed in me as they believed in Maar who you unmade. Now you shall taste the steel of Maar which you had purposed to kill others."
"You who know all things--know that you too can be unmade and remade!" cried the king. "The fire of destiny waits for you even now!"
"Yes," replied Naat. "But you do not wield it." And with one sword she struck off the king’s head, and with the other spitted it in the air through the skull. Then Naat went out to the square, to where the people were rejoicing, and held up the spitted head of Melq Qurut. But upon seeing her, grim and red, they grew quiet, and in the quiet she addressed them, asking: "Wherefore, people, do you rejoice? You would do better to curse me, for I have killed your king."
Some shouted that they would have a new king, others that they would have no king at all, and yet others that Naat should rule them herself. To that, she made reply: "I cannot rule you. Kings must keep faith, but gods are faithless, although this day destiny has moved to restore the balance. Now who will rule among you is for you to decide yourselves. But know; you must decide quickly. If they have not learnt already by sorcery, king Abim of Apyria and king Shapsh of Symochth will know very soon that Maar is unmade and that with many of his soldiers, Melq Qurut is dead. This land has remained inviolate for a thousand years. Do not think that they will delay the opportunity to invade and plunder it."
"Lead us in war!" cried the people.
"I cannot. War drains my strength. Even now I am wearied, and grow wearier. Maar thrived on it. That was why he led in war."
"You slew the unking and his solders!" called out some people.
"Because they believed, and it was their undoing. Apyria and Symochth have their own gods, Yand and Suptu. They do not believe in Naat."
"What shall we do, then?"
"I cannot tell you. Men know what was; gods know what is, but only speechless Destiny knows what will be."
"Can we not collect the metal of Maar from the king's men's swords, and remake him?"
"No," said a grizzled old man in a leather smith's apron, standing up. "Maar and Naat were forged with enchantment by the mage-smiths of old. The enchantment was broken when he was melted down. You may collect all the metal, but the virtue was not in it. It was in the enchanting, which is gone."
"Is this so?" they asked Naat.
"It is so," she confirmed, laying a hand on the smith's shoulder. "My mate has gone to the abode of the gods, and none may summon him thither but destiny itself."
Some of the people tried to clean the blood from Naat, but while they removed the blood itself, a crimson sheen remained in the metal, of which she said: "You can clean off the blood of men, but not the blood of the stricken balance." For some weeks she remained with the people of Mesembria, teaching and helping to the end. And at length, she was found one morning inert upon her pedestal, and the people knew that war was approaching.
"What shall we do?" the people asked among themselves. There were soldiers who had survived the day of the fall of Melq Qurut, but they held out small hope of prevailing against the invaders. "If only we had Maar to lead us!" said the people, "or Naat to be with us, or even Melq Qurut, as evil as he was! But now we are to be devoured like sheep by wolves!" They besought the former priest of Maar, who consulted with the smith taught of Naat, and the smith said: "Perhaps there is a way."
"What is it?" demanded the people.
"It may be possible to remake Maar. His metal's enchantment was lost when he was unmade. But we still have metal of enchantment. It is the metal of Naat."
"Naat revealed the last words of Melq Qurut to me in a dream," said the priest of Naat. "A god could, if they are true, be unmade and remade. But with no god who knows all to speak, we can only guess at how to accomplish it."
"Must we risk losing Naat as well?" cried the people.
"You began to do the work of gods, confronting destiny by yourselves, on the day that Melq Qurut put you to it by unmaking Maar," said the old smith. "If we do nothing, we shall be conquered and spoiled, and Naat shall remain here bereft, the realm forever out of balance no matter who prevails. If we attempt it but destiny denies the way, we shall still be conquered, but balance shall be restored, and Naat shall rejoin her mate in the abode of the gods. If destiny shows the way, then we can win--this time--and what to do after, Maar should have to counsel."
"So let it be," said the people. "But where is the fire of Destiny to be obtained?"
"That we do not know, having no god to tell us," said the old smith, taking a flint and steel. "But the fire of Destiny is the fire that Destiny makes its own. Who can tell where its choice shall fall? Anywhere--perhaps here, even." And he struck a spark.
The priest of Naat and the former priest of Maar, and the old smith and his helpers, removed Naat from her pedestal and brought her to the smithy. No one was admitted who was not directly concerned with the work. For three days, hammering and the hiss of steam were heard, and for three nights a glow that varied from red to white, even to blue at times, continued, punctuated with mutters, groans, and clanks, and accompanied by the chanting of prayers and spells. Years later, one of the smith's helpers swore in his cups that soon after the work began, Naat came to life in the forge, remaining willingly but in deep agony, gasping out words of guidance to the smith as he slowly hammered her out of existence, and conveying the final spell to the priest. And on the morning of the fourth day, the smithy's door opened, and Maar strode out, looking much as of yore. Under his guidance, the remaining officers summoned what was left of the troops, together with a body of peasants and burghers recruited from volunteers. Now the story the struggle which followed, of Apyria and Symochth, of the battle of Qudrat and the slaying of Tamaz by Afgar and the founding of the Vafadar dynasty in Mesembria, that is told in the book of Shirhanmar; except that book does not tell of the end of the old gods of Ecgeria, which I shall now complete by telling what befell of Maar.
After the ending of the struggle--not truly a war, since wars are between kings and there was no king in Mesembria between the death of Melq Qurut and the crowning of Shahmasp Vafadar--Maar resumed his pedestal in the square before the palace in Mesembria, and from there saw the establishment of new government, not without its troubles, but without war. The people mourned the loss of Naat, since they felt closer to her, but her former priest could only tell them that they could best honor her by remembering the many lessons she had taught them. At length, it was noticed that Maar was acquiring stains on his metal, which could be scrubbed off with care, but which always returned, digging deeper, and eventually causing pits and rough spots. There could be no doubt: Maar was rusting.
The old priest of Maar was now dead, with no replacement, since appointment of the priests had been in the power of the blood of the smith-mages, of whom Melq Qurut had been the last descendent. An oracle was consulted, as well as the former priest of Naat, and the wisdom seemed to be that what had preserved both the old gods was the faith of the people, born of the balance of things; but the rust of Maar, and the troubles of the new government, showed that while one old god remained of the two, the balance could never be well restored. After a great council to debate the matter, the chief of the counsel, the man valiant in battle and wise in youth, who would become Shahmasp Vafadar, said: "We have heard the words of the oracle and of the former priest of Naat, and we have remembered the counsel of the gods. We can do nothing and let Maar rust away, or we can do something, but what? I believe it is this. We can allow Maar and Naat to reunite, finally, in the abode of the gods. It seems that the days when we could rely on the gods to know the way of destiny for us are over, and we must do the work of the gods ourselves, and face destiny without their aid. The work will be hard, but we have no choice; it has been made for us already. When we fail to find the way, and we fall, we may fall further than before; but when we find the way, so might we also rise higher than before, and with wisdom and goodness prove worthy children of Maar and Naat." So he proposed, and it was accepted, that Maar should be melted down again, this time with reverence, and the metal of Naat, of which he had been remade, should be given to armor for the fighting men who held swords of the metal of Maar. So it was done. Thus was the passing of the old gods of Ecgeria, accomplished on the tips of the swords forged by Melq Qurut to his own undoing, and to the future glory of Vafadar. But that is another story.
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