The Black God's War Page 4

  “He will be here soon. My brother will surely heal you.” Lucia stood up and itched to do it herself.

  “We can’t wait days. Last night my son stopped breathing. We were sure he had died. He’s still with us, but for how long? His episodes come at all times. Please!”

  “Our only son,” the mother said with a whimper.

  “I can pray for you,” Lucia said, “but you may still need to wait. Our Haizzem is leaving Remaes this morning. He should arrive in no more than six days.” She took a few steps toward them.

  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’d 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 on the planet of 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 encourage 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 any knowledge of this, 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.”

  Chapter 6: An Apple for the Fairest

  Kannauj, Pawelon. The same day as the Dux Spiritus ceremony.

  NARAYANI LAY SUPINE, nude on the mattress made for a prince. Her mind wandered the maze of the high eggshell ceiling with its curving olive, grey, and purple flourishes. With one hand beneath her head, her other fingers slowly traced patterns over her brown chest and thighs, occasionally touching her lips and long neck. She imagined it was Rao’s mouth and tongue circling sweetly, so that by his mysterious powers each pattern he etched tied their hearts and souls together for all eternity.

  She rolled onto her side and squeezed her knees to her chest, staring longingly out the window at the cloudy sky.

  At least I can feel at home in your world.

  The walls, built from the rich, dark wood of the southern Pawelon forests, helped the enormous chamber feel warm. Bookshelves filled with rare and costly treatises lined the room and, though she had no interest in the philosophy, history, or religion in Rao’s prized collection, the books and scrolls gave the room a comforting touch. They reminded her of him.

  When she finally heard the sound of the countless soldiers outside the room coming to attention, she sat up, making sure her hair was still pulled back neatly. She crossed one shaven leg over the other while pointing her lightly oiled chest at the door.

  Rao stopped as soon as he saw her. His new saffron-colored sage uniform showed off his tall shoulders and athletic build. He looked over her body with an amorous smile. His dark hair had been neatly combed, but she’d have it tousled again soon enough.

  She patted the bed. “I have something for Pawelon’s youngest ever sage. His initiation ceremony lasted all morning. It’s been so hard for me to wait.”

  “I should inspect this present for him to be sure it’s safe. It could be a Rezzian trick. An assassin!”

  “Right. They would do anything to get to him.”

  Rao slipped off his tailored leather shoes and glided to the bed. He sat, still and quiet, gazing into Narayani’s eyes.

  “All the girls have been saying our prince is ravishing in uniform. I couldn’t agree more.”

  “Your beauty shines, as always, like a Sravasti diamond.”

  She smiled. “I hope you’re happy because of what you see in front of you, not because of your accomplishment.”

  Rao’s chest rumbled as he laughed. “Well … it’s only due to you, my love.”

  “That’s what I want to hear.” Narayani came forward on all fours and stopped with her lips in front of his, waiting. She received his hungry kiss, and her world disappeared.

  Rao stood and removed his tight uniform. Narayani stretched out on her side. Rao pressed his warm body to hers.

  “You know I would do anything for you,” she said.

  “Then let me hold you.”

  But I don’t want to wait.

  Their bodies were more than ready. She flicked her tongue at his neck. He held her close, kissing her sweetly around her face. She ran her nails down his back and grabbed his tight buttocks.

  “I want to bear your child, Rao. Your father would be thrilled to have another heir, wouldn’t he?”

  His voice lost its swagger as he said, “That’s probably true.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

  “How was the ceremony? I know your father would’ve liked to have been there.”

  His warm, brown eyes focused on her again. “It went a little long. I’m glad it’s over. Now all that’s left is for Aayu and I to decide what we want to do.”

  You’d better not even think about joining the war. “It’s almost over, isn’t it? Almost ten years now, and they still haven’t taken the citadel. Your father wants you to stay in Kannuaj.”

  “I know, but we’re sages now. My father needs all the help he can get.”

  “They don’t need you or Aayu. They’re doing fine without you. Your father will be angry if you go. My father isn’t an easy man to get along with, either.” Her father, the supreme general of Pawelon’s army.

  He took in a deep breath, then expelled it all at once. “Probably right again.”

  Narayani kissed Rao’s neck, then his chest, and on down below his firm stomach. She looked up and batted her painted eyelashes, biting one side of her lower lip. He stared back, breathless. She savored feeling in control of her lover, the Prince of Pawelon.

  “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.”

  Rao swallowed and nodded.

  Without warning, a blinding light poured through the enormous windows overlooking the fertile lands of Pawelon. A wave of heat flushed through the room. Rao jumped out of the bed and pulled up his long pants. He ran to the window and stared down at the rows of crowded streets surrounding the palace.

  Narayani covered herself with the sheet and sat up. “What was that?”

  “The storied solar flash. It means … their Haizzem is the leader of their army. He’s their Dux Spiritus now.”

  “I thought he was too young?”

  “Exactly. I’m only a year older than him.” Rao’s head moved from side to side as he collected his thoughts. “They—they’re not doing what they were supposed to.”

  “You said the Haizzem wasn’t going to fight until he’s older.”

  “That’s always been their history. They’ve abandoned their tradition.” Rao rubbed his forehead. “This changes everything.”

  “Then maybe peace is coming. Maybe he doesn’t want to fight.”

  Rao turned his eyes to her again. “There’s no chance of that. Retreat isn’t a word in the dogs’ vocabulary.”

  Narayani threw off the sheet covering her body. “Come back. I’m not done with you.”

  “Narayani, I’m sorry. I have to talk”—someone knocked upon the heavy door—“to Aayu.”

  “Rao … Narayani … stop kissing and let me in.”

  The worst possible time for my cousin to show up, she thought.

  “Hold on there, bhai,” Rao answered his great friend.

  Narayani whispered, “Tell him to go away.”

  “I have to talk to him. Please get dressed.”

  “I’ve been waiting all day for you, Rao.”

  “Please. I need to do this.”

  After giving Rao an annoyed look, Narayani stood up and wrapped herself in her favorite silk sari, the one she wore the first time she met Rao and danced with him at the palace’s Navariti festival. Green with yellow patterns, it exposed her navel and one shoulder and fit tightly around her breasts. But she knew she had nothing more to offer Rao. She wasn’t going to be able to change his mind. No matter what she said or did, she knew he was going to leave her.

  Chapter 7: Trojan Gods

  RAO MANAGED TO SMILE, in spite of the sun’s ominous portent, when two hundred and fifty fleshy pounds of Aayu entered his chamber wearing a skintight saffron sage’s uniform.

  Aayu’s face still somehow showed his usual mirth. “What on Gallea is going on?”

  “This changes everything,” Rao said.

  “We’re definitely going now,” Aayu said.

  “What?” Narayani’s voice raised an octave and then came back down.
“Rao, be rational.”

  “Narayani, if their Haizzem defeats our army, it will be the end of everything we love. They’ll burn this city. They’ll definitely kill me, and they’d take you and—”

  Narayani froze Rao with her glare. “Then let’s go somewhere else and wait until things calm down.”

  Rao reached out to hold her. He knew she wouldn’t understand.

  Aayu threw up his hands. “Cousin, there won’t be anything to come back to if we don’t go. The army’s going to need our help.”

  Narayani broke free of Rao’s arms and snapped her head at Aayu. “What are you going to do? Meditate with the soldiers? Neither of you know anything about combat. I’d be more useful to the army than either of you. I’ve done actual healing work.”

  Aayu smiled at Rao with raised eyebrows, and Rao overcame the urge to grin. Narayani, like nearly all Pawelon women, knew very little about what sages actually did. “My love, he’s right. Aayu and I have abilities we can use to help our warriors.”

  Aayu sat in the chair in front of Rao’s desk and leaned back. “Cousin, listen to me. Rao completed his training with one of the best assessments in our history. They’re going to need our help.”

  “Why? You’ve always said there are a lot of sages at the citadel.”

  Rao reached out his hand to her. “I wish I could explain, but you know I can’t.”

  Narayani crossed her arms.

  Rao extended both of his hands, but she refused him. “My father and your father will be glad to have Aayu and me when they see what we can do to help them.”

  Aayu laughed. “Are you serious?”

  Rao’s cheeks tightened as he smiled. Granted, his father, the very rajah of Pawelon, would probably need some time to warm up to their presence. Rao’s father had forbidden him from joining the war. And General Indrajit, who was Narayani’s father and Aayu’s uncle, made a stern impression on Narayani and Aayu when they were children.

  “Why are you joking?” Narayani asked. “We’re talking about your lives. Rao, what about everything we want to create? The arts programs? The meditation center? The projects for the poor?”