Part 1 The Offering
1. The day dawned bright and arid. It had already rained that year. Everyone in the desert was familiar with the Decree of the Gods. One rainy day and night a year, it said, that was all mortal men needed. Any more would be an excess. The Rain Goddesses had to obey that rule. When they did not, it meant they were overstepping. Such years boded ill for the Priestesses from the Temple of Rain Goddess in the Grand Oasis. One of them, the youngest and fairest, had to be taken to the Temple of the Sun Gods as a sacrifice to them. But this year had shown itself mild so far. Quite likely, there would be no sacrifice. In fact, there rarely was one. Those outside the desert – enemies of the Sun Gods and Rain Goddesses – liked to spread rumours and outrageous lies. They were the ones making the desert people out to be cruel barbarians who worshipped irrational gods and bowed to the desires of mad priests.
The usual stream of supplicants waited to gain entrance to the Temple of the Rain Goddesses. The gates stood wide open. Even so, only a few were allowed inside at a time. The rest had to wait their turn. Many would wait for days to be admitted. Those that came with the regular caravans, though, had priority. And the guards of the caravan could be allowed a quicker entrance than most. They protected the property of the Goddesses, after all. They had to earn some reward.
Rashed of the village of Red-Stones was standing in the temple courtyard, trying his best to appear calm. He would be next. One of the Priestesses would soon meet him, receive his small offering, and then ask what he wanted from the Goddesses in return. Rashed did not know why the thought made him so anxious.
After a while, it was finally his turn. A young woman in a long red dress – an acolyte of the temple – beckoned him to follow her inside. He did so, conscious of the half-envious, half-frightened stares of those left behind, who still had to wait their turn.
The Temple of the Rain Goddesses was a tall wooden building, one of the largest constructions in the desert lands. Only its counterpart, the Temple of the Sun Gods was taller. And that was built entirely of stone. It was said that the Temple of the Sun Gods was twice as imposing as the building where the Rain Goddesses were worshipped. Rashed found that rather difficult to believe. Now that he was seeing the splendour of the Temple of the Rain Goddesses, he was not sure he could imagine anything that would have been more impressive.
The temple was built entirely of wood. There was nothing of stone in it – because stone was for the Sun Gods, and the Rain Goddesses could not have it in their building. The tall wooden poles that held the roof with its age-old beams gave the impression of being inside a tree. Even the smell was the fresh one of plants and roots. Dry leaves were scattered all over the floor. Rashed heard them crunch beneath his feet as he stepped on them. The walls were covered with silk tapestries, green and brown with a sapphire glistening here and there. Water lapped in small alcoves, miniature fountains from underground springs. There were many, although they all blended their different voices to form but one song and that was for the praising of the Goddesses.
The young acolyte led Rashed to the Chamber of Requests, a small room opening on the right side. Rashed gazed longingly down the corridor before entering. He knew only the Priestesses and the novices were allowed further into the temple. It was not permitted to him to look upon too many of the wonders of the Temple of the Rain Goddesses, yet now that he had come so far, he felt a stab of curiosity. He quickly tried to suppress it. If the Goddesses discovered such thoughts in his mind, they might not grant his request. Quelling all regrets, he bowed to the acolyte and entered the room. The wooden door swung shut behind him. He tried to ignore how final the sound felt to him, as if he had just witnessed the sealing of some doom.
The Chamber of Requests was a low-domed room with broad windows. The sun made its way through them, the only source of light that Rashed could see. At night no candles needed to be lit there. The Chamber of Requests closed its doors in the evening. There were no alcoves and no fountains. Silence was complete, save for the rustle of the leaves on the ground. In the centre of the room there was a large narrow table covered by a soft green cloth. Already, objects had been placed on it – food, materials, jewels and even the small wooden figurine of a camel. Rashed gazed at it wonderingly. It must have been a child’s toy. What had prompted the owner to give it away to the temple? Why that object in particular? What story lay behind it?
All this came to him in a flash. Afterwards, his attention was caught by the figure standing in front of the table. She was tall, impressively so, and the way she held herself made her appear even more formidable. She wore a green dress, and a green veil covered her head. Her eyes were green and piercing, her face wrinkled and wise – not a young face, nor was it the face of one who had it easy. This was the oldest of the Priestesses of the Rain Goddesses. Sister Cunna, she was called, and no one knew why she was only in charge of the offerings and not the High Priestess herself. She certainly had a lot of influence.
There were voices whispering that Sister Cunna was held in higher esteem than the Ruling Priestess herself. Most decisions were taken by her. The only reason why she was not the Ruling Priestess was because she preferred acting behind the scenes to outward actions. Of course, those were only rumours and not the most reliable ones, either. They were spoken often by dissidents who, after spreading their dissent, were summoned to the Priestly Council and sentenced to exile or work in the mines. It was not easy to trust such people; although they were right about one thing. Sister Cunna was, indeed, a formidable force.
Rashed took a deep breath. Conscious of the Priestess’ assessing and somewhat mocking gaze, he reached into his pouch and took out his gift. It was not much, only a belt of camel hide. It was not even that sturdy. But he had spent three nights making it. It was the work of his own hands. The Goddesses, he reasoned, were bound to appreciate such work. Yet, before the belt reached the Goddesses, it had to meet with Sister Cunna’s approval. And, so far, she did not look too impressed.
“What is your plea to the Goddesses?” she asked, without further introductions.
Rashed ran the tip of his tongue over his suddenly dry lips.
“I…,” he began hesitantly, finding his voice hoarse, “I wish to have Malna’s love.”
That was done, then. He had said it. There was no need to specify who Malna was. The Goddesses would know – if Sister Cunna allowed his request to reach them.
Sister Cunna’s eyes narrowed. She looked at the clumsy belt, then at the objects assembled on the table in front of her. The message was clear. She did not think the Goddesses should be bothered with such trivialities when all he had to offer was a measly belt that could be found anywhere.
Rashed saw his plan falling through. He could not simply walk away. He needed the favour of the Goddesses. He knew he was not exactly well-off and could not spare anything but the belt he had made specially for the Rain Goddesses. And yet, he found himself bartering in his desperation.
“Please, Brightest One,” he addressed the priestess. “Please, let me have the favour of the Blessed Rain Goddesses. I wish to make Malna my wife. I would give anything if the Rain Goddesses could make it so.”
Cunna raised her eyebrows. A calculating look appeared on her face. Someone more experienced than Rashed would have spotted how she was trying to take advantage of the lovesick boy. The only thing Rashed saw, though, was that Sister Cunna was interested, and he could not take that as a bad sign.
“Would you really give anything?” Cunna prompted, as if to make sure.
Rashed did not hesitate. He did not even blink.
“Anything and everything, Brightest One.”
“Very well. Imagine that the Venerable Rain Goddesses have granted your request. You have Malna’s love. She has agreed to become your wife. Will you let the Venerable Rain Goddesses have claim on your firstborn child?”
Briefly, Rashed wondered what having a claim meant. Then, he dismissed the thought as irrelevant. Whatever the Goddesses wanted was just.
“I agree,” he said without hesitation. “If the Venerable Goddesses ask for a firstborn, then they shall have mine.”
Cunna’s impassive eyes searched Rashed, assessing him. Finally, she nodded.
“Very well,” she said. “I will speak to the Goddesses on your behalf. Go back to your village and take Malna for a wife. But do not forget: your firstborn child will belong more to the gods than to you.”
Rashed bowed low. He thanked Sister Cunna profusely. But the Priestess had turned her back to him, in a silent order for him to leave. He obeyed, missing the look of satisfaction on Cunna’s face.
2. It was evening. The last of the worshippers and pilgrims had left. The Temple once more belonged only to the Priestesses. Sister Cunna locked the door to the Chamber of Requests. She would show all the accepted gifts to the High Priestess the next morning. The High Priestess would then take them to the Supplication Chamber, where she would present each gift to the Goddesses, together with the supplicant’s request. But there was one that, in Cunna’s mind, could not wait.
The bold people of the desert accused Cunna of being manipulative and scheming. They did not know that those from the Temple thought the same. Cunna was dangerous in the way she worked her plots and twisted the others’ will to comply with her own. That was why she was in charge of the offerings and had not been made High Priestess. Her ambitions would benefit the temple then, instead of causing dissensions.
No one from the outside knew how the Priestesses elected their leader. They thought they chose themselves as directed by the demands of the Goddesses. It was not so. Whenever a High Priestess died, news was sent to the Temple of the Sun Gods. The Sun Priests spent a week in deliberation, and then announced the successor. The Priestesses had absolutely no say in it. As a matter of fact, it went the other way round when a High Priest of the Sun Gods died. It was the Priestesses of the Rain Goddesses who chose his successor. That was how they ensured no personal interests were pursued, and everything was done for the benefit of the Sun Gods and Rain Goddesses.
When the last High Priestess died, Cunna was the obvious successor. The Priestesses thought so, too. What Cunna thought was unclear. When the Sun Priests chose Sister Saya, Cunna did not even blink. She accepted Saya’s position, although the Priestess was younger and far more inexperienced.
Saya was a strange choice for High Priestess even for those aware of the machinations of the two temples. She was the tenth daughter of an ore miner. The family was not exactly well-off, so they had to give one of their daughters to the Temple of the Rain Goddesses to make sure she did not starve. They had given a son to the Temple of the Sun Gods as well. But the boy had barely graduated to priesthood, while his sister had advanced in the ranks to eventually attain the role of High Priestess.
No one could find a justification for the choice. Saya did not have intellectual inclinations. She had learned her letters after entering the Temple and even now she had difficulties when reading. She was not moved by inspiration or enormous faith in the Goddesses. She worshipped them, true, but the special relationship the other Priestesses professed to have with the Rain Goddesses was completely unseen in her.
Cunna found Saya in the Chamber of Contemplation. It was a large bright room, built from green trees. The smell of leaves was heavier, especially in the evening. This was where the Priestesses retreated when they wanted some moments to themselves. Not many disturbed the Priestess that was found sitting alone in the Chamber of Contemplation.
“Exalted One,” Cunna greeted.
Saya started as if brought out of deep thoughts. That was unlikely, Cunna thought uncharitably, as she had learned over the years that Saya was not one prone to deep thoughts. The High Priestess turned her head slowly.
Cunna thought Saya looked more like the wife of some wealthy cloth merchant than a Priestess of the Rain Goddesses and a High Priestess at that. She was plump, with an unusual head of curly hair – strands of which always made it out of her veil – and a good-natured face. She smiled often, more so than many of the other Priestesses. Some enjoyed her cheerful presence, finding it refreshing. Cunna never had. She viewed it as unnerving, a stark contrast to the general solemnity of the temple.
“Sister Cunna. I see that you have finished for the day.”
Saya never referred to Cunna by her title. As she was above her in status, she could choose not to. She called all the other superior Priestesses by title without hesitation, though. If Cunna had been bothered by anything Saya did, she would have paused to ask why.
“Exalted One. You will be pleased to hear that I have made a very profitable exchange today.”
“Oh?” Saya inquired, without showing much interest.
She had a strange way of thinking, as far as the other Priestesses were concerned. She found it disturbing that, instead of having their prayers granted out of mercy by the Rain Goddesses, the worshippers had to offer gifts. It was an ancient tradition dating from before the building of the two temples. The time when the Sun Gods and Rain Goddesses had granted favours any other way was not remembered.
Cunna studied Saya carefully. The High Priestess’ lack of enthusiasm was not unexpected. She came from a simple and poor family, so it was natural that she should think first of the needs of the simple folk and not, as she should have, of what the Goddesses could benefit from granting the absurd requests people made to them. Cunna thought such a view tasteless in one who served the Rain Goddesses.
“What important gift are you offering the Goddesses? And for what?”
“Not just the Goddesses. The Sun Gods as well.”
Saya fought hard to keep the frown off her face. There was only one gift that could benefit both the Sun Gods and the Rain Goddesses.
“A young man, a herder, probably, came to ask for the attentions of a lass. At first his offer was meagre and not worthy of the Goddesses. When I told him so, he said he would give anything, just let us give him the girl. I told him the Goddesses would do so, if he dedicated to their service the first child that he had by her.”
Saya kept silent. From time to time, people – usually poor people, with nothing else to give – would offer their children as gifts to the Sun Gods and Rain Goddesses. There was no brutal sacrifice. The people of the desert were not savages, and, anyway, the Gods had no use for dead bodies. They needed their servants alive. The children offered as gifts to the Gods and Goddesses spent their lives serving them. Some entered one of the temples.
Usually, such human donations were made by parents who knew very well what they were getting into. The young boy who had entered the temple begging for the attention of some village girl was not a parent yet. He did not know what being a parent meant, nor did he care. The only thing he cared about was the girl. And he was going to get his wish granted whatever it took. Cunna had sensed that particular weakness. And she had proceeded to ruthlessly take advantage of it. The lad had no idea what he had consented to as Cunna had not tried to explain. That was what bothered Saya most. Cunna had deliberately used the boy.
“You have had a busy day, I see, Cunna.”
Cunna frowned slightly.
“I have done the right thing. And time will prove that to you.”
She spun on her heels and left the room. Alone once more, Saya shook her head.
“I wonder if it will.”
Copyright Simina Lungu 2021
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