A Letter
Wisest Master,
All is made ready; all is prepared. I recall to you many winters ago when we gazed upon the delicate sands of the monks of Sohay, how finely wrought and artful, prepared over days in utmost silence. And yet one grain wrongly placed, and all was wiped away to begin anew. I recall that we killed them for this, and for their heresy. Blood red stains on half-swept swirls. And Ahtan was pleased.
Yet I dwell on this. If even a single grain is strewn wrongly upon our own design, so too would fate bind us to begin anew. And it would be we who are slaughtered by God's fury. The Son of the Sun will not long abide without us.
We are closer now, almost close enough. For a true and great seeing I will do what must be done. I walk the Eye of Ahtan, that I might be blessed with His power and see for one single moment as our Lord sees. You have counseled me against this, but time slips away from us all too quickly. My scryers have spied an ominous cloud in the west, low and purple and circled by a flock of many starlings. I move as the Celestial Authority desires, and as I have been placed. But the prophecy cannot be denied, and so I will do what is necessary.
With Esteem and Grace, you will hear of my success.
- - -
The kindling was stacked artfully, twenty piles on trampled flowers led each a trail to a great arch of timber, coals strewn beneath it. The hilltop was small and alone upon the plain, and few were there to see. Twenty gentle fatted white heifers were led up the slope, led by twenty adepts in brilliant robes of white slashed with crimson bands. They bore long knives both beautiful and wicked upon their belts. The heifers did not object as they were laid down upon the kindling, and they calmly raised their throats as bidden, supple flesh parting to the sudden cut of golden-handled blades, thrashing now as life’s blood soaked the fine white coats of man and beast alike.
Abbisdiun knelt before Ahtan upon a small and simple rug, the sumptuous silken sleeves of a magi’s robes sullied upon the ground. Only humility would please Ahtan. Only utter devotion. It had taken many lessons to learn this, and many years; he would not allow himself to forget a single one. He praised Ahtan in the holy speech as the adepts chanted, now pouring oil. He rose as they struck sparks with glass and the Sun’s fire blossomed upon the earth, the heifers thrashed half-dead as they burned, their flesh and bones consumed, adepts cowering from the sudden inferno. The smoke rose pure and white, and a slow zephyr began to bear it westwards. He imbibed a goblet of the holy nectar as he stepped forward, a peculiar warmth spreading near-instantly through his limbs. The flames leapt upon the arch, and it creaked and groaned. “It is as He wills,” the magus said, passing barefoot upon the deep red coals. He walked, and a crown of flames roared above him.