The Silver Sparrow

Of Religion and Men

It began with the death of one man.

Azzam izr Yosef, an old priest of Sangi temple, a man highly respected by his peers and much beloved by the people of Rasharwi for his contributions to the poor, was found dead on his bed one morning. The cause had first been declared unknown, until someone suggested it might have been a heart attack from old age. The late priest's steward argued, however, that his master's health had been too excellent for such an ailment to have taken his life. Other speculations then spread through the temple, most agreeing with the steward's claim. It was murder, then, someone concluded.

The conclusion, by protocol, led to an investigation and an autopsy done by a physician sent from the Black Tower. The verdict had, indeed, been murder and by way of poison. The administration of this poison was then traced to a special drink Azzam had always taken before bed, one usually prepared for him by a Shakshi slave girl who had been working in the temple for the past two years.

It had to be her, one of the priests concluded. The accusation, being promptly backed by other priests, spread quickly through the streets of Rasharwi. By the next morning, the slave girl was brought to city's main square in front of the public, strapped to a post above a large pyre. Burning was the proper form of punishment for bringing death to a priest of Rashar. The approval of such sacrifice had been obtained some time during the night from the High Priest of Sangi, who, of course, had authority to decide on religious ceremonies and rites in the area. It was to be done at sunrise, said Yakim the High Priest, under the eyes of the god himself.

But this was Azzam izr Yosef, someone in the crowd argued just before the burning. This was a priest who had given aid and homes to hundreds of Rashawi's orphans and unfortunate souls. A sacrifice of one Shakshi slave wasn't enough, by far, to justify the murder of the Rashar's most esteemed servant.

More sacrifices then, an elderly woman suggested, followed by a few nods from the crowd that quickly grew into a discussion. One hundred Shakshi slaves was a good number, they all agreed afterward. It would send the right message, prevent such things from ever happening again. The Shakshis needed to be taught a lesson, put in their places.

The problem, of course, was whose slaves would be burned. Someone suggested a draw, others argued that contributions were to be made by those who owned the most slaves. The clever man who had suggested more burning in the first place came up with an idea. "There are," he said, pitching his voice to carry, "unclaimed slaves in the thousands in the salar's Shakshi quarter, are there not? Surely, as Rashar's anointed ruler, his lordship could spare some for justice."

The citizens of Rasharwi in that square came to the conclusion that ninety-nine more slaves were to be taken from the Shakshi quarter. Two-hundred men and women then marched from the city square toward the gate of the salar's closed off area, home to the original eight thousand slaves taken from the Vilarhiti—now numbering close to ten thousand—to make demands for sacrifices.

By the time the news reached the Tower, a riot had broken out in front of the gate. The original group was then joined by more men and women who had heard of the commotion. By mid-afternoon, the Shakshi quarter was on fire, set ablaze by a mob of more than five hundred Rashais.

The salar, watching the plume of smoke from his balcony in a quiet rage, wasted no time to dispatch a thousand royal guards to crush the mob. By sunset, a little over one hundred citizens of Rasharwi were killed and hundreds more were injured. The fire in the Shakshi quarter was contained a few hours later and soldiers lined up on the streets leading to its gate to protect the area from another attack.

At the top of the Tower, watching the rise and fall of strong, broad shoulders from behind, Jarem knew how close his salar's control was to breaking. The last time he had seen the same heavy, barely contained breathing was when they were pushed back by the Shakshi army in the Vilarhiti. What followed was a massacre on both sides those who survived still had nightmares over. The unrest may have been contained and the fire put out, but the salar knew, as well as Jarem did, that this would not be the end of it, not by far. You could kill a person for silence, not people.