The Lost Colony

Chapter 20

Who will cook?" Sparr had been elated to learn he would accompany the caravan. Selfishly, he had hoped that Efreem and Silla might also join.

"Should be her," Silla said, jabbing a finger over her shoulder in the general direction of Ora. "But... let's just say she isn't ready yet. So..." Again, she trailed off, giving Sparr a significant glance.

"So I get to torment you another few weeks?"

"You'll wish you'd never asked me to show you how to cook."

"Chopping fifty kilos of onions is 'cooking'?" Sparr chuckled, then remembered something he'd wanted to ask Silla. "What is 'The Departure'?"

"Oh," she said. "Yeah. Well, there are a bunch of prominent citizens who are important donors but just not generous enough to merit an invitation to the pilgrimage. The temple does what it can to appease them."

"So The Departure is a night-before bash?" Sparr thought of the Earth sports teams that were feted prior to a championship game.

"Yes," Silla said. "The night before the pilgrimage begins, they put on a show just for those who donated heavily, but didn't quite make the cut. It's a way of giving them public recognition, like saying 'maybe next year'."

"So what's the show?"

"It varies every year, but-" She was ready to say more, but Ora lumbered back into the room, breaking Silla's train of thought. The moment was gone.

***

The new princes were a surprise. Whereas the maidens practiced dance on a daily basis, the two men were largely left idle. Sparr came to understand that although they were supposed to be receiving at least some instruction, none of the current princes could be bothered to do so.

"What are you doing?" Sparr caught the two loitering suspiciously near where he had stacked the wine crates just days earlier. The men, still dressed in the coarse garments they had been wearing at the slave action, just glared at him. Sparr took them to be around twenty years old, boys really, still settling into adulthood. In a fair world, they would be in school, griping about their classes, and calling out for the attention of girls. On Kaybe they were little more than livestock, sold to the temple for amusements.

"Do you want this?" Sparr pulled a bottle of wine from one of the crates. He hoisted it. "Come here." Curious, the two youths followed him to the courtyard. "I'm Alain," he said. "They call me Animal." Again, the two said nothing. "Why aren't you drilling with the other princes?"

One of the youths snorted. "Those fops?"

Sparr almost laughed aloud. The word that his implant had translated as 'fops' certainly had another meaning. He glanced over to where the princes were practicing an elaborate dance. Each held a wooden rod the height of a man. The dance involved twirling about the rod, through a practiced motion keeping it still even as they twisted or leapt. In the latter portions of the dance, the men cooperated as a team, holding the rods at different heights as the other dancers vaulted over them, or tossing the rods into the air, pirouetting, then catching them before they hit the ground.

"Anyway, they chased us off," said the other.

"I see," Sparr said. If not kept occupied, the two would cause trouble. And in any event, he sensed opportunity. "I'll teach you something more useful."

The youths watched as Sparr retrieved a damaged rod from where the princes were drilling. He snapped it the rest of the way in two and tossed half to the first youth. "Land a blow and you can have the wine."

The young man stared at him, uncertainly. "What?"

"Pretend it's a blade," Sparr said. "Get past my guard and the wine is yours."

"This is stup-" The boy turned half away as if uninterested, then struck suddenly, aiming at Sparr's side. It was a swift blow, but a clumsy one. Sparr swatted it away, and tapped the youth on the arm with his own faux weapon.

"You're tricky, I like it," Sparr said. "Now, try again. Drop your elbow. No, keep the blade up."

The young man struck again. Once more Sparr deflected the blow. "Good," he said. "What's your next attack? What did I leave open when I blocked you?"

"Your other side."

"Yes, or my head, my legs. Try again, this time two blows, one after the other."

The youth complied, surprising Sparr by making the first blow a feint. The follow-up aimed at his legs was off the mark, but swift. Sparr coached him through several more combinations before the young man's friend spoke up.

"Let me try," he said, taking the stick from his friend.

"Okay, go ahead and-"

The youth struck quickly, not waiting for Sparr's permission. Like his friend, the blow was clumsy and easily blocked. Not waiting for instruction the youth tried again, then a third time. Finally, Sparr disarmed him with a flick of his wrist.

"I don't know why the Governor didn't recruit you two to be gladiators."

The two exchanged a glance. "I told him I really wanted to be a gladiator because I liked other boys so much. That seemed to put him off." He smiled. "And Tuck pretended he was having a seizure." On cue, Tuck screwed up his face and flailed his arm convincingly. "I'm Drian."

"Drian, Tuck, nice to meet you. Now," Sparr said, assessing the two youths, "neither of you landed a blow. But, train with me another hour and we'll share the wine anyway. Deal?"

In response, Tuck picked up the fallen stick and once again lunged at Sparr.

***

"I have to admit, I think Omm would approve."

Sparr found the Origin's veneer of faith repugnant. The temple traded in flesh, drugs, slavery, and influence. Still, he could only admire the showmanship. The outer courtyard had been partly ringed with plush seating and booths. It was here that the second tier of donors were gathered, already flushed and tipsy. Some were on their own, some with their husband or wife, and some with an obviously younger companion. Torches threw a guttering light on the stage, and on a smaller platform which held the temple musicians. Their playing so far was muted and bland, but Sparr had no doubts that the show and the accompanying music would intensify. The Origin didn't deal in subtlety.

"Omm would approve of the tokens collected in his name." Efreem sometimes spoke with a directness that surprised Sparr.

Maidens and princes made the rounds of the audience. Some offered wine or drugged scrolls, some flirted. Sparr watched in astonishment as a prince joined a couple in a booth sumptuously adorned in velvet, sharing his attention with the husband and wife equally.

"If this is only a preview, I can't even imagine what the pilgrimage itself is like."

Liette took the stage. "Faithful and unwavering," she began. "Those of you gathered tonight honor the Origin's mission. To keep the teachings of Omm ever in your heart is a testament to your character and strength. While others begin the pilgrimage tomorrow, we hope to renew your faith tonight with a journey of your own, a recreation of Omm's spiritual awakening."

Sparr and Efreem watched as the show got underway. They, one or two of the priestesses, and the princes and maidens who were taking part in the performance, had been gathered in a tent at the back. Out of the view of the audience they could rest, change costumes, or peer out to watch the show unfold. Sparr understood that he had a ceremonial role to play near the end of the show. Details had been thin, but he had been asked not to leave the tent before his scene.

"Omm was born into a world of excesses," Liette said, raising her voice to the crowd. "A life of ease, of indulgence!"

One of the princes leapt from the tent onto the stage. The man was meant to represent Omm. He wore a garish, almost hideous mask, and was dressed in a black robe crisscrossed with vibrant stripes of every color. As he walked the stage, maidens and princes joined him, each carrying exaggerated bundles of food, wine, or boxes of what could only be gems or tokens. Each darted close by, offering their goods to Omm. One by one he accepted the gifts. When he could carry no more, the prince collapsed. Still, the others lay gifts upon him until the man no longer could be seen. The band struck up an energetic tune, and the princes and maidens took up a lively dance. They paired up with one another and spun about the stage, circling Omm, taunting him. The music picked up until the dancers were little more than a blur. As the tune reached its strident crescendo, the dancers fled. Omm was left alone in silence, buried by the bounty that had been pressed upon him.

Backstage, the dancers caught their breath. Some performed quick costume changes while Liette once again addressed the crowd.

"And so Omm came to understand that the excesses of his world did not bring joy..."

The priestess droned on, summarizing some fragment of Origin lore, then introducing the next performance. Sparr was intrigued when the cast hauled out what was intended to be a 'maker machine', but the large prop was too abstract to be meaningful. Each dance number was more suggestive than the last. By the halfway point in the show, the crowd hooted and called out rowdily as princes, stripped to the waist, danced and ground against maidens whose robes were so gauzy and open as to provide frequent glimpses of their young flesh.

"We'll need you for the final act," Liette informed him. She had come backstage to take a breather and sip wine. She handed a cup to Sparr. "A brute in chains. It should suit you." The priestess gave him a clumsy wink.

Sparr had figured as much. Such a role would require no lines, no rehearsals, and little ability beyond being of above average size and strength. He thought of the new recruits, the talent. A few of the maidens had made it into the show, but most of the numbers required considerable practice. Instead, they poured wine, flirted, and brought roasted sausages and fried dough to the crowd. If one of the faithful fancied a prince or maiden, he or she simply took what was wanted. Sparr saw one of the new maidens, wriggling uncomfortably, seated between a merchant and his wife. Both were fondling and kissing the young woman. Sparr had to look away.

At last the evening drew near the final act. One of the princes affixed an ornate, metal belt around Sparr's waist. To this was attached a length of chain, with the other end looped through a clasp at the center of the stage.

"Finish your wine," the prince said. "You can't bring that out!"

Someone had filled Sparr's mug. He downed it, and let the prince guide him to the stage entrance. "When it's your time, just walk near the center. We'll take up the excess chain."

"... and yet Omm's work is never done," Liette was saying. "Stray from the teachings, stray from the sacrifice and the wheel, stray from Omm... you are lost!" She raised her arms with a flourish.