Chapter forty-two

Tlaxapec

 

The Grey Cloak loomed over him in the darkness of the hall. Its very fabric spoke of power and demanded obedience – its grey eminence was like a dark thunder cloud. It was all the Priest could do to stop himself bowing down. But he knew it was all illusion. Anyway, he was frustrated. He had waited patiently for more than an hour but the thief seemed unable to control the device at all.

‘If you can’t move try speaking, then’ said the Priest, ‘don’t just hover there – try to say something to me’

The shape in front of him, huge and divine, shrugged. This was a devastating movement, as if the god was disdaining the whole universe.

‘And stop making those human-like gestures, if you can…’

A huge voice boomed out across the room.

‘I’m finding it hard to control’ it thundered, filling the air with a portentous complexity of echoes. The voice coming from the cloak was the voice of god, but the soul inside the cloak was of a tremulous mortal. The Priest was just pleased that the cloak hadn’t killed its wearer. But beyond that would this ever work – controlling the cloak might well be beyond a mortal’s powers.  In order for his plan to work the Thief would have to counterfeit his master in a Cloak Assembly: his present performance wouldn’t fool a credulous child.

‘Try very simple movements’ he suggested

The Cloak lurched forward, like a marionette jerked suddenly by its strings. Its appearance was awkward and terrifying in equal measure, but it was not the effect that the Priest desired.

‘It magnifies your actions… that’s the problem… as I’ve been saying. Try smaller movements…’

The Thief tried again, with about the same effect. The Priest repeated his instructions and so they went on. This continued for several hours but slowly, surely, the thief reduced his movements until finally the Cloak moved roughly under his control. The looming just looked impressive now and the gliding across the floor looked suitably majestic.

‘It’s all smoke and mirrors’ muttered the Priest.

‘What?’ shouted the Cloak, making the Priest cover his ears. He shook his head.

‘I think you’d better come out for a while. We’ll work on the voice later’

There was a delay while the Thief let the Cloak drop to the floor and scrambled out of it. He was drenched head to foot in sweat; his black hair matted into a helmet. The Priest handed him a flagon of water. He drank it down in one long swallow. Then he stripped off all his clothes.  

They sat for a moment in the Priest’s hall staring at the Cloak, which was now lying, innocuous, on the floor.

‘So, do all the mighty Tlaxacan gods have these devices?’ asked the Thief. He had picked up a towel and was drying himself.

The Priest shook his head slowly.

‘I don’t think so. I think this is a special thing; fashioned to be the uniform of the chief god…The others just clothe themselves in the rough shape of a cloak. They agreed to assume that form a long time ago’

‘You have no respect’ grumbled the Thief.

The Priest smiled.

‘Possibly, but that’s because they’re not my gods...’

‘The Grey Wanderer is…’

The Priest considered this; he hadn’t thought about it much before.

‘I serve him, yes; but he’s more of a moral exemplar than a deity...’

He wrinkled up his face.

‘…but I suppose we can call him a god if it helps you understand how things are…’

The Thief stood up and wagged his finger at his companion. After all that time spent inside the Cloak, however, the movement was tiny.

‘A being is either a god or he isn’t. You’re playing games with me’

The Priest looked down at the Cloak.

‘What’s that, then, if it’s not a toy? Perhaps I’m not the only one who’s playing…’

‘Gods don’t play’

‘Perhaps this is all a big game…’ murmured the Priest, ‘and the gods are only some of the players…’

The Thief glared at him. His voice was hoarse with the effort of talking.

‘You talk rubbish, and you blaspheme… Gods deserve our respect’

The Priest picked up the empty flagon from the floor and dipped it in the drinking water pool. He handed it back. The thief nodded his thanks, which made the Priest smile inwardly. His companion was changing, despite himself.

The priest withdrew an apple from the pocket of his coat and began to munch on it. It seemed like a long time since his last meal. He liked human food very much even though, in fact, he could eat almost anything that was organic.

‘You didn’t respond to my accusation…’ said the Thief

The Priest chewed through his mouthful slowly. He didn’t speak until his mouth was empty.

‘Blasphemy, heresy, dogma… It’s all nonsense you know… It’s just what it’s always been: powerful beings using their power to persuade you that they speak moral truth. It’s just politics – there’s no brain-power involved at all…’

‘And your god? The wandering one…’

The Priest shrugged.

‘…has thought himself to a standstill, I suspect, but at least he isn’t murdering and destroying anymore’

The Priest knew that the young man found him exasperating, but he never thought they would see eye to eye. They really didn’t have to.  Despite it all, though, he was still co-operating.

‘Do you stand for nothing, Priest? You and your mentor – is the world just a series of chaotic swirling events, with no meaning?’

An apple wasn’t enough. He’d have to go and find some more food.

‘If we make it that way, of course. But that’s up to us – your meaning is just as good as the gods’, however much smiting power they have. It’s up to us the fashion a world worth waking up for’

 ‘I don’t understand’

‘I’m not surprised. My meaning is often unclear even to myself…’

‘I demand that you explain yourself – my views, my ideals, are just the thoughts of one mortal, a god’s is sanctified by their allotted position’

The Priest raised up his hands to accept this point. His voice was soft and he picked through his words.

‘Maybe – although, who gave them their positions? Perhaps, though, and instead, we might agree on some meaning together and perhaps that meaning might be more valuable as we have come up with it collectively. And one of our thoughts might be, at least, that we won’t listen quite so much to powerful beings who don’t care about us and who want to control us?’

‘That’s even less clear, foolish priest’

The Priest, hungry and uncertain, had one more stab at making sense.

 ‘When the lions mass round our tent it’s usually best to come out fighting together, brandishing bright torches. The alternative is just to lay there and let them eat us one by one’

He stood up from where he had been sitting and turned to leave. His long legs felt very stiff.

‘What, by the great gods, does that mean?’ asked the Thief, wrapped up, pale and thin, in his towel.

The Priest looked back.

‘You’re no lion, thief, and neither am I… And now, you should get some food and rest’

 The Thief nodded – he looked famished. The Priest regretted having teased him when he was so exhausted.

‘I have some pineapple’ he declared. It was a peace offering.  He walked off. The Thief followed. They were briefly united by hunger.