The old man led Sabit to the center of the shrine, his hand calm and reassuring on her elbow. A cozy, open space was filled with the rosy-hued light of dawn. Bowls and plates of copper, burnished mirror-bright, covered the walls and ceiling, catching the dawn and gathering it to a bright, warm glow. A small pedestal stood in the middle of the room, waist-high to Sabit. Its surface was a shallow bowl of polished stone, blinding white in the harvested sunlight. On the wall above the bowl was the face of the morning goddess, her smiling mouth puffing out thick swirls of scented incense.
“Make your request of the divine dawn, flower of battle,” said the old man.
Sabit glanced into the dazzling copper eyes of the goddess for a moment, and then lowered her own gaze to the floor. “I seek to know how I might conquer the man who has betrayed me and brought me low. He is powerful. I refuse to fail again.”
Stepping forward, the old man whispered prayers to the goddess, kneeling before her. When he rose, he held a small jug of ornamented lead. Pouring it into the stone bowl, he said, “Look into the water, flower of battle. Tell me what you see.”
Sabit stepped forward and gazed into the puddle of water that filled the bottom of the bowl. “I see the marketplace of Bahteel, teeming with goods wrought by the hands of its people. I see Kehnan, bearing the device of a general, calling the men to arms. There are so many common folk—young and old, rich and destitute, taking their spears, swelling the ranks of his army. I see myself in the crowd. At one shout from my throat, the crowd turns on Kehnan, his body riddled by spear-points, cast in the image of my own.”
The old man set the lead vessel on the edge of the bowl and produced a silver jug. Pouring some water into the bowl, he said, “Look and tell me what you see.”
Sabit gazed down once more. “I see Kehnan in camp with his generals. They smile and rest their hands on one another’s shoulders. These are men of high birth, men he trusts. Men he shares his wine with. They huddle over maps of war. They have surrounded my people. Kehnan gives the order to leave no one alive. One of the nobleman has my spear-point in his hand, the iron haft wrapped in leather like a dagger. He drives it through Kehnan’s throat, his body fals, gagging on his own blood.”
Setting the silver jug on the bowl’s edge, the old man brought forth a golden jug and poured it to fill the bowl to its brim. “Look and tell me what you see.”
Looking down once again, Sabit spoke. “I see Kehnan at the head of the vast army of Bahteel, troops arranged in rank after rank of spears and arrows. Next to him stands another army, draped in the colors of a brother-king. The full might of two kings is arrayed against me. Kehnan gives the order to charge and his troops lurch forth, death held high upon their spears. The other king holds his forces steady, the tip of my spear mounted to his lance. When Kehnan’s men have gotten too far in front, the other king unleashes his troops. His army charges them from behind, destroying the strength of Bahteel, and lifting Kehnan’s broken body upon their bloody weapons.”
The old man set the golden jug upon the bowl’s edge. “Which aid would you ask for the goddess grant you? She is generous to those who have been wronged, flower of battle. She will give you one ally in your fight. Which will it be?”
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Photo by Irina Kostenich from Pexels: https://www.pexels.com/photo/silhouette-of-wheats-during-dawn-in-landscape-photography-867647/
Wayfarings of Sabit: Dawn is copyright (c) 2018 by Michael S. Miller. All rights reserved. New chapters post every Thursday (and the occasional Monday). You can support this and other stories on Patreon: https://patreon.com/michaelsmiller Find more sword and sorcery fiction at http://ipressgames.com/fiction/.