Chapter 19

Like a voracious swarm of locusts, the mob swept up the avenue, a mass of humanity intent on tearing down every stone of the rotted temple. They carried swords and knives, but more carried staves and bricks, ropes and whatever else they could find to turn into a weapon.

Borner scrutinized the crowd as they swirled around him and carried forth with single intent. His own face was set in a grim cast as he scrutinized the madness overtaking their senses. The near future was clear - even the poisoned swords of Urutu would be unable to halt the onslaught. Borner prayed that the limited commitment of mercenaries on payroll would cause many of the “rented” priests to drop their pretenses and flee for their lives as the believers charged up the avenue. For those who were native born and bred to Urutu, he doubted there would be enough remnants of their bodies for a decent burial.

He had expected the madness of the mob to infect him, to swell in his gut and overtake his good sense. Instead, he stood on the boxes, now clear headed and alone. The Void screamed out with grim victory with its release upon the hordes of people, but it did not call out to him. Borner jettisoned all that he had ever practiced by sending these people to their deaths and summoning a civil war. Was he a fool or a prophet?

He heard a great roar from somewhere far up the avenue. Urutu had tasted the first wave of its fate.

“You did not tell me you were going to sing,” Kanner said from below. He offered a hand. Borner sat down on the edge of his boxes and, with a hand on Kanner’s shoulder again, he jumped down. He landed clumsily, having to grab for the boxes to stay upright. He was no hero, not even a surefooted ally.

“I did not know that I was going to sing either,” Borner said, looking his friend directly in the eye. “I can reference for you where I drew this line or that image, but to what end? It just flowed out of me and now my voice is hoarse.”

Looking around Borner saw that a few ones and twos were milling around in various groups. The priests who had been at the throat of the street were gone, including the one woman he was seeking.

“All of them went up?” he asked.

“Your words were like a contagion,” Kanner said. “They swayed to the rhythm or tapped their feet to the beat or drummed their fingers to the tune. All faces I could see were mesmerized. None who heard could deny its majesty. None but me, who had his hands clamped on your ankles to keep you from being jostled off your podium.”

The awe of the moment was clear in Kanner’s description. Borner waited for his friend to come back from his memory’s retreat to the new moment at hand. Borner pointed up the avenue with his juntu staff, showing the way. Kanner nodded without speaking a word.

“Come and join us,” Borner shouted across the square to the few tens that were deaf to his oracle or too broken to care. Heads turned his way and appeared to hesitate. “None should ever have to walk alone. Together we are more than we were a moment ago.”

Ten or so joined him and the rest shied away, making their way to stand by a building or a stall. With a shrug, Borner turned back to the avenue and began to walk. None of the people walking with him was armed, which did not surprise him. These were the disbelievers still hoping to be won over; the believers and the converted were already at the gates, tearing them down.

As they trudged up the street, an insistent reminder clamored for Borner’s attention. No matter how evil, no matter how despicable the act, all life is precious. While there may be justifications for the taking of a life, such actions should never be taken without due consideration. To take a life was to take responsibility for the judgment passed on the irredeemable soul. He felt the full weight of that judgment.

The panorama of the various temples with lights shining from their windows provoked Borner’s anger, to his initial surprise. If they were true and enduring, then they should have risen to put down Urutu and their crimes. They did not. He did not consider himself a cynic, but he could see how the hypocrisy could easily sour a man. “Amateurs,” he muttered, dismissing all the pomp, marble and gold leaf.

An explosion sounded, and smoke began to rise from the top of the avenue. As the temple came into view, Borner witnessed the huge stone face of the fanged snake crashing to the ground. The shattered rock broke into small chunks that started rolling down the street, past Borner’s feet.

“The gods come crashing down to the pavement and fall away,” Borner said to no one in particular. “Watch your step.”

The doorway was a gaping maw with one lonely hinge swinging in the upper right corner. As he stepped inside, Borner saw the remnants of the doors, their metal bands gone. Smaller lengths of now unbound wood were missing. A cry of agony went up and was cut off. A cheer sounded. Continuing further into the building Borner encountered a mob crowding into the central rotunda whose center was a huge stone altar that rose above an average man’s head. The sacrificial top was large enough to accommodate three or four full sized deer.