"A caravan left in the night with some black-haired slaves. I do not know where it went."
The midmorning sun lit the ziggurat complex. It was surprisingly large, a 300 feet wide square, guarded by tall, stone walls. Half the temple grounds were given over to beehive-shaped shrines of baked mud, thick with vines and damp moss.
Off to one side were the administrative buildings and a soup kitchen, where about 200 of the faithful - and the hungry - were having a morning meal of flatbread, boiled chickpeas, and cheese.
Bordering these buildings and the shrines, was a large, open, gathering area shielded by old trees. Facing it was a tiered, metal structure not unlike a climbing frame in a children's playground. It was had a pyramid-like shape built with four tiers. At the tapered, topmost tier was a bronze sculpture of a Mi-Go.
Behind all this, towering into the sky, was the ziggurat.
It looked like it had been plucked out of ancient Sumeria. It was built from hard-packed earth, its walls painted white and adorned with red and blue symbols. Groups of worshipers walked around it, dressed in white and bowing their heads as they chanted call-and-answer prayers. A steep stairway led up the first tier of the ziggurat, which was almost sixty feet up.
Peeking over the edge of the first tier, were lush, green gardens. Perhaps this was what the Hanging Gardens had looked like. Rising above it by thirty feet was the second tier. All I could see of it was smoke climbing up from ritual. There was a third tier beyond this, capped with a covered temple of black stone and bronze statues.
"Damn it!” I ground my teeth, “If only we’d been here last night!"
“I am not sure it would have led to different result. It left in secret at the dead of night. They wanted none to know where they were taking their dark-haired slave girls."
I had not expected to see Naya, but if she was on that caravan, I doubted I would see her again. That moment was the first I realized that part of my interest was just that I wanted my lovely little slave back.
"However, there is another caravan leaving tonight," said Juskar. He smiled and nodded as a white-robed worshiper past, waiting till he was out of earshot before he spoke again. "They will not say where it goes, but they are asking the stronger, younger men to join for and expedition of holy service. Perhaps it too is to the same destination?"
"Do you know anything at all about it?"
"This is the third time they have mounted such an expedition. The last times as well, all the slave girls they had bought and kept caged here, were sent away just before. Unless you counsel otherwise, I will join the caravan and see where it goes – and what the cult is really up to."
“Are you really sure you want to do that? You don't owe me anything, Juskar.”
Juskar faced the ziggurat, his eyes tracking the smoke from a sacrificial fire.
“I have nothing. No land. No slaves. No coin. But I have more now after having met with you than I ever had as a farmer."
"I am just a vagabond with some gold in my pocket. That's no life for a man."
"It is a better life than letting others decide what mine should be. Gerard, I do not like this thing here,” he pointed to the temple. “This was a Yoggite city, and in all the lands around, we would sacrifice prisoners and slaves only to the Great God Yog. I am ashamed of my earlier weaknesses, Gerard. I would see this temple was torn down, and its worshipers driven from the city walls! Yes, I do not owe you anything, but I will be joining that caravan, nonetheless."
‘"Alright then. I’ll join as well.”
“You have slaves and goods. You cannot join without leaving Fogrim to manage those on his own. Perhaps it is better if you and he set out as normal, but shadow the caravan from a distance?"
“That sounds good. I'll tell Fogrim; he'll agree to it. For right now, though, let's try to blend in and see what we can learn. There have to be some answers for us, up there," I pointed to the ziggurat.
"Those are private shrines. For the highest priests and their followers," said Juskar.
This was normal. Many religions on Hyperborea had nested exclusive circles of knowledge, ritual, and power. The broad-based, direct-to-God, religion of the 21st century was unknown here.
"I’m counting on that," I replied.
People walked past us, gathering in the assembly area.
“Let us set purpose first to more humble goal,” Juskar indicated to them. “The morning prayers are about to start.”
***
"Are you hungry?"
"Yes!"
"Are you landless?"
"Yes!"
"Are you suffering?"
"Yes!"
We sat at the very edges of the assembly area. Before us were almost 300 worshipers; some wore white. Most were dressed in simple clothes, even rags. All were down on their knees, like prisoners - or slaves.
Seated on the pyramid-like metal frame, just below the sculpture of the Mi-Go, was a remarkably pale priest. He wore white robes with a red, hooded cowl thrown back. There were black, curling tattoos on his face and neck.
His eyes were purple.
"Do not worry, my children, children of the Mi-Go!" The seated priest continued, "because you are all blessed! Look to your left, and look to your right. What do you see? Those who enjoy the blessings of the Mi-Go!" He stood up.
"His eyes," I whispered to Juskar, "Is that normal?"
"There is a next world," continued the priest, "and a next life, far greater than this one! In that, those who bow to the Mi-Go's sacred order shall be rewarded!"
"Yes," Juskar whispered back. "Have you not seen such before?"
"Never!"
“The common people must bow to their richer betters,” the priest stood, holding out his arms to the crowd. “The rich must bow to their priestly betters. And, we priests must bow to our godly betters, the Mi-Go-"
"The purple-eyed come from the lands under the shadow of Yarth Tanophk. None dare raid there and few of their kind are seen abroad in our lands."
“I thought no humans lived near Yarth Tanophk.”
“What makes you think they’re human?”
The strange priest carried on with his sermon. I looked around at the worshipers: all eyes were on the priest. I could've stabbed someone, and I don't think the person next to him would've noticed.
"Whatever we may from this, I cannot listen to this anymore," Juskar whispered, standing up.
"Neither can I."
As discreetly as we could, we stepped away from the worship gathering.
"It shames me to see my countrymen so," Juskar kicked a rock in the dirt. "It is as if they have forgotten who they are."
"I have seen this before."
"Where?"
“Not where, when. In my time, the powerful have taught most people to be weak." I replied. "What I like about you Hyperboreans is that you’re not like us. You revere only warriors, fear only gods, and bow to no one. That," I gestured to the kneeling mass, "is bullshit."
The idea of rewards deferred to the afterlife in exchange for submission had no place in Hyperborea. If there was anything I had learned about life here, it is that a Hyperborean may prosper by his own hand, whether he carried a sword or a hoe. Ebugal was a microcosm of what was happening to the Darfuri - a people whose ancestors had fought the Mi-Go were now being subjugated by the simple grinding of economics.
"Forget the Mi-Go," I said. "If you want to free your people, it's people like him you need to worry about."