Thomas Harlan - The storm of Heaven

"What have you done, Lord Prince? What words have you spoken over a fresh-turned grave?"

Maxian ignored the warning in the older man's voice, eyes brightening. He began to speak, his voice coming from a great distance, reciting from memory: "O Furies and horrors of hell! Dread Chaos, eager to destroy countless worlds! O Ruler of the underworld, who suffers for endless centuries-"

"Cease!" Tarsus moved, his staff lashing out to strike the face of the man before him. The blow rocked Maxian backward, leaving a deep cut on his cheek. "Such words are never to be spoken in this sacred place!"

Tarsus trembled with anger. There were secrets known to his fellow priests that should never see the light of day. There were pale-eyed creatures haunting the night, whispering at the windows of learned men. The thought that one of his best students-though not the most studious!-had turned down such an evil path filled him with despair. "Where did you learn such foulness?"

Maxian, stunned, touched the wound. Under his fingers, the cut faded, torn skin knitting closed. Blood rushed to his face, restoring circulation to the area. He looked up and Tarsus stepped back, shocked by the fury in the Prince's expression. In the hidden world, a glittering white shield of interlocking geometric forms shimmered between the two men.

"I sought them out." Maxian's visage cleared, anger draining away like spilling water. Great weariness replaced the fury. "A man helped me. He had learned those words as an apprentice in the East. Tarsus, I have done some questionable things, but I beg you, help me make them right. This girl…" his hand fluttered towards the corpse, "…she trusted me and died. I have salved her wounds before, even mortal ones! With your skill, I can bring her back from beyond the black river."

Tarsus shook his head. The stillness of the courtyard, the quiet susurration of the sleeping penitents, the empty night sky, all pressed upon him. He could feel the Prince's entreaty like a physical pressure, urging him to accept. It was the role and the practice of the priests of Asklepius to help those who needed aid. Here was a man in deadly trouble…

Should I refuse? He was my student!

Tarsus sighed. "Follow me. Bring the… girl. We will speak inside."

– |The priest spilled thick wine into a cup. Water followed. His little room lay on the western side of the temple complex. One side abutted a channel of fitted stones guiding a stream along the edge of the plaza. The priest pushed the cup into Maxian's hands.

"Drink."

Though he felt a great desire for wine himself, Tarsus did not drink. The corpse of the girl was laid out on a table between them. Wooden cabinets, filled with murky bottles, covered the walls. The worktable was smooth, polished granite. When necessary, Tarsus had performed surgeries on the table. Tonight, however, the bone saw and hammer would not be required. This body was beyond even the considerable power of the high priests.

"What happened to the girl?"

Maxian looked up, his pale, thin face flushed with wine. In the warm light of the oil lamps, he seemed very young, as young as when he had first come to the temple. It had been hard to come from a noble's household, to cross the length of the Empire and enter such a renowned school. Luckily, the boy had only been a governor's son when he had first set foot in the Asklepion, not the Emperor's brother! Tarsus sat, keen eyes surveying his student. Maxian looked much older. His hair was tangled and matted with burrs. The priest guessed he had not eaten or slept in days. An odd air surrounded the Prince, like half-heard whispering.

"She… I didn't know what was happening. I…"

Maxian stopped, his eyes distant. Troubled thoughts moved in the Prince, plainly etched on his face. The innocence of youth had fled, leaving a grim and troubled man. "Tarsus, I killed this girl."

The flat statement hung in the air.

"Yes," the Prince said, hand making a nervous, sharp motion. "She came at me with a… a weapon. There was an invisible fire around me and it consumed her like a moth in a candle. I was distracted-everything was burning, even the sky. By the time I could bend my will upon her, she was dead."

"Did you strike her down?" Tarsus' voice was quiet and patient.

The Prince shook his head. "I was beset. Enemies surrounded me. I had raised a sign of fire against their arrows and spears. She-Krista-ran up. I thought she was in the city. I turned and she threw herself into my arms. The sign burned her. It was very quick."

Maxian looked away, face pale. Tarsus continued to watch and wait.

When the Prince had mastered himself, he began speaking again.

"I fled to safety. I tried to restore her as I had done with the others. She came! She walked on the iron floor, she answered, she could move…"

Tarsus nodded, his heart filled with familiar sadness.

Does each of us face this moment? Has any priest of the god not found himself at these crossroads?

"But," the priest said softly, "there was no spirit in her eyes. No spark. No laughter. All the semblance of life, but nothing of the living woman."

Maxian turned, stricken. "Yes! That is exactly…" His voice ran down, seeing the pity and sorrow in the older priest's face. "What does it mean?"

Tarsus sighed and reached for the wine jar himself. The little ritual of pouring and mixing took only a moment. It steadied him and let him put the past away, in dim memory, where such things belonged. The wine was sharp and bitter on his tongue. Tarsus welcomed the discomfort.

"When you left us, my friend, you were a journeyman. In truth, barely more than an apprentice. Many thought-I thought-that you had gone as far as you could in the mysteries of our order. It seemed inevitable, with your brother's struggle for the Purple, that you would be drawn into the civil war at his side. Your skills would never be given the chance to reach their full potential. Perhaps your brother would fail, and you and he would die at the hands of the victor."

Tarsus emptied the cup, then met the young man's eyes directly.

"There are many secrets not revealed to apprentices. There are rituals not taught to journeymen. Some lessons can only be learned by hard experience-these things make a master. This summoning of life to dead limbs is one of the things that we do not teach. It is forbidden."

Maxian's face creased with anger. "Why? Isn't the purpose of our order to save and safeguard life? Why swear our holy oath? If the dead can live, what joy we could bring to the world!"

Tarsus remained still, quiet and patient. After a moment, the Prince sat down.

"The spark of life is the province of the gods. Do you remember your first lessons? Do you remember the tale of our revered founder, holy Asklepius himself?"

Maxian frowned. His early days in the school were a blur. He hated the endless drill and practice. The other students had ignored him, leaving him desperately lonely. The skills themselves, the binding of wounds, the closing of flesh, the banishment of disease and righting imbalanced humors, those things came swiftly to him. He remembered that his tutors had praised his quick instinct and native skill. But the reading and copying? He had put all that from his mind long ago.

"Master Tarsus, I remember the school was founded by some prince who barked a shin on Mount Pindos. He claimed drinking from the spring cured him and he gave money to start a sanctuary. But of Asklepius himself, the 'best of the physicians'? No… I don't remember."

Tarsus hid a sigh. All the best lessons are forgotten!

"Asklepius," he said, "was the half-human son of Apollo the Archer. He was the first physician. In his hands lay the cure for the world's hurts. There was no disease, no wound he could not defeat. He went abroad in the land, in old Achaia across the waters, tending to the sick and to the lame. One day he came upon a woman grieving by the side of the path. At her side, under a stained and mended cloth, lay the body of her husband. Asklepius turned his powers upon the man. In the corpse he found darkness and the echo of the Styx. But the light in Asklepius was so strong, his power so great, he could restore the dead to life."