The Black God's War: A Novella Introducing a New Epic Fantasy Page 4

  The nearest soldier partially blocked her path. “It is not safe, Your Grace. Please stay where you are.”

  The boy, no older than four, fell forward onto his stomach. He choked, fighting to suck in air, but his lungs wouldn’t expand. His arms flailed as his parents dropped to their knees and put their hands on his body.

  Lucia ran to the boy and lifted him into her arms. His tiny face flushed with pain and begged her to save him.

  Ysa, this child is innocent. Whatever the reason for this plague, it had nothing to do with him. Grant him your grace.

  The boy went limp, his little head hanging off her elbow.

  Lucia’s blood pulsed with indignation as she heard Lord Danato’s voice again.

  “They are dying, Lucia. Children, parents, grandparents, and soldiers. Sadly, this boy will die soon, too. But there is a reason for all things.”

  Lucia turned and thought she saw a blur of black skin. No one was there. No one else seemed to hear the voice. She relaxed and shook her head, realizing she was experiencing yet another nightmare from Lord Danato.

  The girl grabbed Lucia’s leg. The parents began to wrestle the boy from her, almost fighting over the corpse.

  “Gian, it’s your father. Wake up, boy. Breathe for me!”

  The mother wailed. She yanked her son away and pressed his body to her breast. The boy’s arms and legs dangled like a doll’s.

  Lucia knew she would never forget Gian’s dying eyes. Her muscles shuddered with rage, knowing the boy would eventually die from this plague.

  “Arrows, arrows, arrows. So many burning arrows, Lucia. Thousands of your soldiers dying with each battle, as if the gods of Lux Lucis have forgotten Rezzia. Yet your men feel they honor us. You will watch them fall for a decade more.”

  Lord Danato had been telling her this every night since she arrived at the canyon. It still made no sense. The long record of history was clear: once a Haizzem commands Rezzia’s armies, historic victories come swiftly.

  Pawelon’s ancient citadel would have to fall soon. Even though Caio wasn’t mentally ready to assume the role of Dux Spiritus and kill the Pawelon pigs, her father’s strategy was still sound.

  Once Caio enters the valley, the gods-damned war should be won within a year, if not a moon. Not ten.

  Lucia awoke in a panic, finding her sheets drenched in blood.

  She squirmed and tossed the sticky linens to the floor. She stood on the opposite side of the bed, threw her robe down, and examined her body.

  I haven’t bled. This isn’t my blood.

  Her fingers feverishly scratched down her arms and legs, trying to erase the foul stains. Failing, she grabbed a pair of long black gloves off the table beside her bed and stretched them from her hands up to her muscled upper arms. From her great-grandmother’s antique chest, she removed a brown cloak. She quickly tied it around herself, then ran to the double doors and pushed them open.

  Outside, ten soldiers stood tall and disciplined. The brisk air felt cruel against her face. In a few hours the desert would feel like a dry sauna again.

  “Have any of you been here the entire night?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Did anyone enter my yurt?”

  “No, Your Grace, is something troubling you?”

  Lucia stepped inside and slammed the doors. Disgust stirred in her belly. She looked across the room at the bloody sheets and felt her face twitching. Her mind raced, wondering if The Black One had spilled the blood himself.

  A warpriest’s voice rang out over the camp, calling the men to morning prayer.

  “Bring me warm water and washcloths,” she said through the door.

   

  ~~~~~

   

  Lucia scrubbed at the obstinate stains. Once certain she’d washed the blood away, she dragged the sopping cloth along the firm contours of her beige skin and recalled a bitter montage of recent dreams. She ran her dripping fingers down her accursed arms—now forced to bear even greater burdens.

  I have to tell Caio. There’s no other option.

  She stood with sudden conviction and dressed herself, looking to the goddess Ysa’s martial relics for courage. Ysa’s sword, shield, and silver armor rested on their decorated black walnut stand. She reminded herself how many royal men and women throughout more than a thousand years of history had carried these objects, and of all the miracles they had invoked with the blessed metal to protect Rezzia.

  Her round shield scintillated with hundreds of tiny crimson and amber gemstones forming ten concentric circles, a geometrical work of art. Ysa’s white sword was immaculately symmetrical, made of an inscrutable metal that still had not been re-created anywhere in the world known as Gallea. Bright yellow and white stripes curled around the sword’s grip ten times until they met a golden, crystalline pommel.

  Lucia closed her eyes and asked Ysa for firm resolve, then sat at her small desk littered with correspondence. She stared at a blank parchment, breathed deeply, and picked up the quill. She labored to compose the first half of the letter, then reached a burning pitch as long-withheld truths erupted onto the page.

   

  Beloved Caio, my Haizzem,

   

  It is the beginning of my eighth day in the valley. It is another world, this war, like the tales of Lord Danato’s underworld hell. By Ysa’s grace, I have not been injured, though the battles have been fierce.

  Finally, yesterday, something occurred to support my sanity. I celebrated your ascent to Dux Spiritus with our soldiers and warpriests. We remained in our camp and worshiped together before we saw the great flash when the sun reached its zenith. Such a deep silence took root in us, a hundred thousand praying together. I will always regret not having been there for the ceremony, but my abilities have been needed during father’s absence.

  I do not wish to put any more weight on your shoulders, but the fighting has been gruesome, and our Strategos Duilio, who is remarkable even in his old age, says Pawelon’s archers have become even more deadly over the last year. It is as if we have been cursed by the dark spirits they command. With you here, I know this will change. Everyone I have talked to believes in you, and will rejoice in seeing you.

  I must tell you something else now, Caio, a grave thing. I have never wanted to burden you with my troubles, and until now I never felt I had to. I did not come to this decision lightly, for you will see it has the greatest implications. Please trust I have not gone insane.

  The Black One hounds me, brother. He has ever since you were born. Lord Danato comes to me in dreams and visions and tries to speak to me, though I have rarely given him the pleasure of an answer. I have never before seen a reason to burden you with this knowledge, but now he comes to me with matters involving you and all of Rezzia.

  In the past, he would come on occasion, but recently he has been relentless. He has visited me every night for at least a moon, burdening my soul with so many things I will never be able to speak of.

  I must tell you, his dark prophecies have always proven true, and now he terrifies me about this war. He connects it with the new plague. He shows the fighting raging for another ten years, even after you join it. The record of history makes it very hard for me to take this seriously, but he is an insistent god. We both know that ten more years of fighting is not an option, assuming it is even possible.

  Please pray to Oderigo and Mya. Perhaps channel a scripture directly from Lord Oderigo. Find out if Danato’s vision is to be taken seriously, and if it is, how we can alter it. I have always felt powerless before him and his demands on me. In his presence, I feel like a little girl, awkward and angry and unable to speak my voice.

  I must go. Our armies are leaving for the day. Please give Ilario my best and tell him I look forward to seeing him. I am sure you are growing even closer now. I hope to be the first to welcome you both to our camp. Together, we will watch a golden history unfold.

  The light will come.

   

  By Ysa'
s Grace,

  Lucia

   

  She exhaled a heavy sigh and lowered her chin to her chest. The sense of defilement still plagued her body.

  The clamor of soldiers came from all directions. A guard said through the doors, “Your Grace, the army is gathering.”

  Lucia glanced again at Ysa’s sword and shield. “Tell the Strategos I’ll be there soon.”

  Author’s Note

   

  From here on out, the novella veers off in a different direction from the novel. If you think you might want to read the full novel, my suggestion would be to get the novel now and keep reading at chapter six (chapter six in the novel is different than chapter six in this novella). Of course, you can continue on with this much shorter version of the story, but be aware that this novella is missing some of the early chapters that are in the novel. This novella is 15 chapters. The novel is 85 chapters.

  Chapter Six: Cranes in a Stormy Sky, Obscured by Dust

   

   

  AFTER SEEING THE SOLAR FLASH and understanding its portent (that Rezzia’s Haizzem had ascended to Dux Spiritus), Pawelon’s prince left his nation’s capital city Kannauj on a journey to their ancient citadel. Since the start of the war nearly ten years ago, his father, giant Rajah Devak, had led the nation from inside this mountainous fortress perched on the edge of the desert canyon separating Pawelon from Rezzia. The people of Pawelon could thank the stone structure for thus far preventing their defeat and subjugation.

  After graduating from his lifelong training as a sage with the highest evaluations in decades, Rao decided to join the war even though his father forbade it. He arrived shortly after sunrise, five days after Rezzia’s Haizzem ascended to Dux Spiritus. After a brief reunion with his father—one in which the rajah smashed the back of his hand against his son’s face—Rao was sent into the field alongside his father’s supreme general to support Pawelon’s troops on a unique engagement.

   

  ~~~~~

   

  Rao struggled to remain centered in the midst of Pawelon’s forces, as they marched into the valley. A well of emotional pain gushed within, aftershocks of his father’s blow. He breathed in and out in specific ratios, attempting to assert control over his feelings. In: one … two … three. Out: one … two … three … four … five … six.

  In his current condition, he knew he’d be useless if General Indrajit, who walked beside him, needed him to access his powers. Effectiveness as a sage depended on acute presence of mind, detached observation of all internal and external phenomena. Both the inner and outer worlds were pummeling his awareness.

  Their troop created a menacing spectacle: fanged long spears and great bows raised high above thundering footsteps, death-lust in the warriors’ eyes. Hatred and fear blanketed the atmosphere, palpable to Rao’s keen senses. His years of training rescued him from total overwhelm; he concentrated on breathing.

  The desert felt increasingly oppressive as the sun climbed and they descended the sloping path. As Rao trod the baked earth, after five days of hiking from Kannauj, his sandals chafed his sore feet. Red cliffs enclosing the winding passage blocked most of the sky. Heavy clouds flew at a bizarre speed above them. Rao wiped the moisture from his face.

  It’s too humid. This weather isn’t natural. Something’s happening.

  As he watched the scene around him, an image flashed in his mind. The army’s legs swung forward—right leg, left leg, right leg, left leg—kicking boulders down the path with each stride. His mind intuited the symbolism: The war’s momentum could not be reversed, stopped, or even slowed. Every person was merely a spectator of the unfolding drama.

  No, he corrected his thoughts, this is as transient as anything else. It’s a fiction that will collapse if but one man can see it for what it is and speak the truth.

  Rao’s emotions were still jagged. He’d held naive expectations for his reunion with his father, believing his father would be proud of him, that he’d be thrilled to see a son he barely knew. So many uncontrolled emotions were completely inappropriate for a sage—and they indicated he was in real danger.

  General Indrajit finally broke the silence. “There are only two ways down to the canyon, two ways for the dogs to climb to the citadel. Each day, we defend both routes with bowmen hidden in the cliffs, infantry at the base of the trails, and, further up, tight spear formations blocking the trails at their narrowest points. The Rezzians carry one throwing spear each, believing it is dishonorable to use more than one ranged weapon in any battle. They believe only cowards use bows. So determined to die, they keep coming in droves, year after year, and we keep killing them.”

  If the general was still bitter about the confrontations from earlier that morning, Rao couldn’t detect any sign of it on Indrajit’s hard face.

  The general spoke with professional detachment and kept his cold eyes trained far ahead. “The dogs have a grotesque pride that drives them directly into our defenses. They are always aggressive, even when it least serves them. Their blind faith renders them imbeciles. They believe their gods protect those who should live, and that men who die in battle are glorified in the afterlife. If they had any sense—”

  “But we’re the aggressors today, General.” As Rao spoke, he felt his inner turmoil fueling his tone. He knew he was out of line.

  Indrajit stared forward like an eagle, no reaction at all. “Prince Rao, we want them to come and battle us in the open field today. They have neither king nor Haizzem in the valley, men who command great powers. We must break their army’s spirit, perhaps even destroy their camp, before the king returns with his son. Striking them now gives us our greatest chance for victory.”

  Rao couldn’t stop his words. “General, the Rezzians made the mistake of initiating this conflict. Aren’t we acting like them now, recklessly provoking such a large battle? This doesn’t seem like Pawelon’s way. It puts our survival at risk. All actions return to their sender. Karma is immutable”

  “Once they began this war, it became ours to finish. The principle of reaction states they must face the repercussions of what they have done. We are enforcing the principle of karma.”

  “I say this with respect, sir, but men cannot administer karma themselves. Karma is a natural law, beyond our ability to enforce. When we try to do that, we are entangled in the same sticky web, pulled into the same mire. The fruits of their actions will return to them inevitably. The natural balancing in the universe is far more powerful than any worldly army.” As he spoke, Rao saw a dour curling of Indrajit’s lips, but he continued, “They will meet the consequences of their actions if we refuse to become like them. If we adopt their principles, we could become lost in a perpetual cycle of violence.”

  Indrajit’s voice grew louder. “Aren’t we already? Within days, a Rezzian with the power to rule the world will be here. And you would have us wait for him and let their forces rest? Did you come here to be passive, or to fight for Pawelon, my Prince? What karma would come to you for standing aside and watching your own nation fall?”

  Rao’s pride burned—he knew his ego was too attached to the debate. “If we attack them in the open field, we’d be just as much at risk as they would be. Haven’t we kept them at bay all these years with proven tactics? Why expose our whole army to them?”

  “Our gamble is wise given the circumstances. Their decision to meet us is not. They should wait for their king and Haizzem, but since the king left they’ve been too proud for that.”

  This debate has its own momentum. I can’t stop it. “I find it strange that one reckless strategy can be so right, and the other so wrong.”

  “Because you are not seeing anything in context. We are seizing our best chance to send the dogs home.” Indrajit tightened his jaw, and a few teeth showed through his snarl.

  “We've held them off for nearly a decade. We’ve perfected our defenses. Why take such a risk? We could throw everything away guessing about a new development we don’t u
nderstand yet. Patience is a valid tactic in war, isn’t it? And observation? Who knows what the Haizzem will do?”

  Indrajit’s cutting eyes shot toward Rao. “War doesn’t always afford us the luxury of contemplation, sage.”

  “Should we become just like them?” Rao heard his voice wavering with insecurity. “Change ourselves because they pushed us? Haven't we lost already then?” I sound like a starry-eyed juvenile.

  “The arrogant cannot be defeated with flowers or meditation. Only force can stop fanatics.” Indrajit pointed a finger at Rao. The general’s arm shook as he paused. “My Prince, you have no experience to back up your platitudes, but you mouth your tripe as if you’re wiser than a man three times your age. Join me in the real world if you have the stomach for it. Your father does.”

  Rao’s gut turned over, but his convictions spewed out. “I can help you today, General. I'm sure of that. But I didn’t come here to be the aggressor. I came here to defend our people and our territory, not to bring the fight to our enemy. I'll do my part to ensure our soldiers return safely today. If their Haizzem leads them into battle, I will adjust. But I will never throw the first spear.”

  “They have thrown the first spear for nine long years. Now, while they are without their spiritual leaders, we can push them back. If we don’t stop them here, our way of life may soon be over. Your royal line could be snuffed out. Our people could be their slaves. Could you live with that karma?”

  “A man must act on his conscience. I would rather die than live by no greater principle than my own survival.”

  Indrajit glared sideways. “Be careful what you ask for. A spiritual prodigy should understand the power of his own words.”

  They rounded the edge of a red cliff wall, and the great valley opened up before them. “Look, Prince Rao. The dogs are coming to meet us.”

  Spanning across most of the horizon, the Rezzian army advanced from the east. Behind them, their dust cloud turned the blue sky ochre.

  “We are going to fight them. If you're determined to be gutless, then don’t help us drive them back to the hells.” The general looked up at the suddenly brooding sky. “No wonder your father thinks so little of you. You are weak. Less than his shadow.”