THE BLACK GOD’S WAR:
A Novella Introducing
A New Epic Fantasy

Moses Siregar III


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Map by Jared Blando at TheRedEpic.com


Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2010 Moses Siregar III
Cover design Moses Siregar III
Map by Jared Blando (TheRedEpic.com)
First electronic publication: August 11th, 2010
Updated: December 29th, 2012

P.O. Box 421
Prescott, AZ 86302
www.ScienceFictionFantasyBooks.net
Please contact mosesmerlin@hotmail.com with any comments.


Table of Contents

Chapter One: Sing Muse, of Hades and Light
Chapter Two: The Ten
Chapter Three: A Sacrifice for Apollo
Chapter Four: The Remonstrations of Achilles
Chapter Five: The Furies
Chapter Six: Cranes in a Stormy Sky, Obscured by Dust
Chapter Seven: To Dream of Battle
Chapter Eight: The Wrath of Athena
Chapter Nine: A Burial Truce Offering
Chapter Ten: The Unseen One in Prophecy
Chapter Eleven: The Lovers’ Respite
Chapter Twelve: The Earth Shaker and His Sea
Chapter Thirteen: Astrapios and Brontios
Chapter Fourteen: A Rival to the Gods
Chapter Fifteen: The Quieting of the Gods
Afterword
Acknowledgments
About the Author


“Moses is a fine writer deserving of success and I think that it will follow. I really enjoyed Moses’s work.”
—NY Times Bestseller David Farland

“The Black God’s War is, to date, the finest example of quality independent fantasy I’ve seen … This is what indie publishing is all about and I have no qualms about recommending this great novel.”
—Indie Fantasy Review

“I don’t give many 5 star reviews … I find I really can’t stop thinking about this story. Unforgettable story, intriguing characters, compelling journey with unexpected twists—in short, a very satisfying and engaging read.”
—(5/5 stars) MotherLode Review Blog

“… a rather brilliant climax that left me grinning from ear to ear …By the time you flip to the last few pages, I hope you have the shivers just as I did …”
—Journal of Always Reviews
“An inventive tale with high command of craft.”
—Scott Nicholson, Author of The Red Church

“Given the quality of the writing, you would not know that this is Siregar’s first novel and he set the bar quite high … I enjoyed this book, immensely. It had style, it had substance, and it had a lot of heart … Siregar easily defies the stigma that you can only get a quality book out of a recognised publishing house.” (Review: 9.4/10)
—FantasyBookReview.co.uk

“Simply a great book, skillfully written. It is intriguing, holds your interest and has some surprising twists and turns that will pleasantly, or unpleasantly, surprise you. For a debut novel ... simply outstanding.”
—Ray Nicholson (Top 1000 Amazon Reviewer)

“I enjoyed [the] novella from its opening chapter to its gripping end.” (Review: 5 out of 5 stars)
—Red Adept Reviews

“If you want to read a talented new author with a flair for storytelling, you should definitely pick up this story.”
—Two Ends of the Pen Blog

“Siregar's debut is an excellent example of the quality the indie author scene is capable of ... More like this, please.”
—Signal dot Noise Blog

“His characters are as passionate as his descriptive prose. The pacing is perfect ... This is a novella epic fantasy fans don't want to miss.”
—Bryan Thomas Schmidt's Blog

“The writing is tight, the characters well-drawn and deep, and the world feels alive and many-layered … this is no one- or two-dimensional and predictable plot/conflict, but rife with undercurrents and tensions that just spread out like so many strands of a spider’s web.”
—W. Brondtkamffer’s Blog

“Siregar's strongest suit may be the character development on display, as the royal siblings and a few other characters exude their personalities and frailties in a believable fashion.”
—Skull Salad Reviews

“… A tale spun with a degree of elegance I did not fully expect. The Black God’s War is a great example of how there are extremely talented indies.”
—Ron C. Nieto’s Stories of my Life Blog



The full-length version of this story
is now available!

The Black God’s War
[A Stand-Alone Novel]
(Splendor and Ruin, Book I)



The Black God’s War won awards in the categories of
*Best Novel* and *Best Fantasy*
In the eFestival of Words
Best of the Independent eBook Awards (2012)



Please visit the author at

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(you’ll also get some free stuff).



For Molly, Athens, and Mom.

Thanks to Homer and Carl Macek (Robotech).


Author’s Note

This novella is a 27,000-word excerpt from my novel with the same title, The Black God’s War. The first five chapters of this novella are identical to the first five chapters of the full novel. After chapter five, this novella takes a different course in order to focus on particular characters and elements in the story. In brief, the novella focuses on the kingdom of Rezzia. The full novel shows both sides of the story, including Rezzia’s enemy, Pawelon.
If you like what you’ve read after five chapters, you could pick up the novel to read the rest of the 85-chapter story (120,000 words); that’s what I would recommend. Or, of course, you can just enjoy this shorter work (15 chapters).
Thanks for reading a new author. I hope you’ll enjoy the story!



“Every old poem is sacred.”
-Horace


Chapter One: Sing Muse, of Hades and Light
 
 
IN THE KINGDOM OF REZZIA, inside the highest chamber of the grand minaret, ten-year-old Lucia looked out to see her father, King Vieri, on the balcony. He lifted her newborn brother high above his head, and the masses, hundreds of feet below, roared with devotion.
Father, what are you doing! she thought. Be more careful with our savior.
Lucia glanced down at her mother resting in the birthing pool. The queen’s black hair clung to her neck, all of it soaked by the holy waters.
“You did it, Mother!”
Kindness brightened her mother’s face. “Thank the gods, dear. You have a brother now. A very special brother. Go, join your father and wave to the crowd.”
“You stay here and rest. I’ll wave to them on your behalf.”
Her mother laughed. “Thank you, Lucia. That sounds perfect.”
Lucia crept toward the archway leading to the balcony wrapped around the circular chamber. She squinted, fighting the midday sun. Tears soaked her father’s cheeks as he presented the pink baby to the faithful. Nature had tattooed thorny red and black vines on little Caio’s hands and forearms: the holy markings of the Haizzem.
As she gazed at Caio, a spiritual energy filled her body with peace and warmth. Her spirit soared. The teachings are coming true! A Haizzem had come again, to rescue all the world. Her brother would conquer Rezzia’s foes and bring the gods’ light to everyone.
Lucia skipped forward to participate in the royal scene. She looked down at tens of thousands of pilgrims in their cream robes and felt dizzy. The clay-white acropolis of the holy city sprawled across the desert plateau: massive domed structures, spiraling minarets, and temples of the ten gods supported by grand columns.
She clutched her father’s ceremonial cremos robe to steady herself. The fabric was bloodied; he had obeyed the scriptural commandment for Rezzia’s king to oversee the birth of his own Haizzem son. She felt so lucky, knowing every Rezzian alive would love to be in her place, touching the king’s garments and the words of divine power stitched into them.
Her father pressed the baby against his chest, and pushed Lucia backward with his free hand. He raised up baby Caio and beamed his joy again.
The rejection shattered Lucia’s bliss.
Her father’s face, with his heavy brown eyes and his perfectly trimmed beard, always showed his serious nature. But as he admired the baby—so high above the masses—he transformed, positively euphoric. He looked at Caio with such true love, a look Lucia had never, ever seen before.
Lucia’s vision darted from her father to her brother and back again. Your love for me is a lie. She dropped her head and long vermilion hair fell around her face. She wouldn’t cry. Not then. Not in front of him.
The crowd’s chanting grew louder and louder. They cried out in the old tongue, we love and adore him!
“Havah ilz avah Haizzem!”
“Havah ilz avah Haizzem!”
“Havah ilz avah Haizzem!”
Hearing their hypnotic praying, her pummeled heart found direction and clarity. The truth struck her as she watched the red-faced babe glowing against the sky: her brother was divine. According to the warpriests’ teachings, it had been hundreds of years since a Haizzem graced the kingdom with his holy presence. They said Caio would possess spiritual gifts beyond compare, including the ultimate proof of his godliness: he would be able to resurrect one person from death during his lifetime.
I don’t matter anymore. Her royal duty would be pure devotion to him. As his only sibling, she would always be there to provide whatever he needed. All of her divinely given powers from the goddess Ysa would serve him alone.
A deep voice rumbled from inside the chamber, startling her: “My dearest Lucia.”
The man’s tone upset her stomach. “Sweet Lucia, come see your mother.”
She turned, tugged on her father’s robe and pointed into the sacred chamber. “There’s a man in there!”
The chanting of the crowd grew louder. Her father pushed her away, harder this time.
“There’s a man in there!” Lucia stomped one foot and swung her fists through the air.
Her father ignored her again. She crept closer and peeked inside. A colossal man stood behind the now much bloodier waters of the birthing pool, looming above her mother. The black of his bald head and muscular arms was as dark as the leather he wore from his shoulders to his thighs. A single orange teardrop decorated the skin beneath his left eye. She recognized the face from scriptural stories: The Black One, the god Lord Danato.
“Your mother is going away forever.” Danato crossed one arm over his chest and put his other hand to his jutting chin. “Come, be with her while you can.”
Lucia breathed heavily with her mouth open. Her mother’s face had looked peaceful before—now it was tortured.
“Father, come quickly!”
King Vieri continued to hold Caio in the air, but turned his head to look at his daughter. “Everything is fine, Lucia.”
“No! There’s a man in here. Muh—Muh—Mother needs you!”
He lowered the newborn to his chest and waved to the crowd.
“Father, listen to me!”
As her father strolled into the chamber, all joy drained from his face. He ran straight to Lucia’s mother, never looking at the black god. The queen’s blood was reddening the holy pool.
“Don’t you see him?” Lucia asked.
Her father laid the baby on the stone floor.
Her mother opened her pained, bloodshot eyes.
Lord Danato sauntered toward the stairs that led to the attendants below.
With his hands on his wife’s sweating brow, her father prayed to his god.
“Lord Danato did this to her!” she screamed.
“Get help, Lucia!” Her father wouldn’t take his eyes off his queen’s face.
Danato stood in the archway between Lucia and the stairs, gazing at her with stony eyes.
“Lord Danato is there! Don’t you see him?”
“Stop your nonsense. Get help!”
Her mother screamed, a harrowing sound Lucia knew she’d never forget.
The baby cried.
Her father kept yelling at her.
Lucia froze. She watched her mother, feeling helpless and mute.
Danato’s voice boomed, “I am sorry, Lucia. There is a reason for all things.”
She looked down to avoid the god’s stare and squeezed her eyelids shut. She found the courage to look up again.
The Black One was gone.
Vieri pulled the queen’s lifeless body from the pool and squeezed it against his trembling chest. His wailing drowned the holy chamber in woe.
Lucia’s dreams of an idyllic life crumbled, sucked into the black god’s tempest of dust.


Chapter Two: The Ten
 
 
Three years later.
 
“COME HERE, CAIO. Let me dress you.” Lucia lifted Caio’s infant cremos so he could see it. He looked up, but kept playing with his toys in the center of his room. She scanned the walls of her brother’s spacious chamber as she waited. The earthen white surfaces would be painted later this day, after Caio chose his patron god or goddess.
As Lucia approached him with the silky robe in hand, he scurried away with his toy horse gripped in his tiny fingers. “Come back here, silly boy.”
Caio dropped to his knees in the corner near his bed and let out his adorable laughter. Lucia stood over him and felt her heart warming as she savored the innocent sound.
“Come now. You need to wear this.”
“Aw.”
“No more joking. Father will be upset if you aren’t ready.”
Caio stood still and let Lucia pull the robe over his head. So excited for this day, Lucia had put on her own cremos robe earlier that morning.
Caio ran back to the rug. She followed and sat beside him.
“We’re going to the atrium and there will be lots of people there. Remember what I told you. A man with silver hair is going to ask you to pick your favorite statue of the gods. Whoever you choose will be your special deity for the rest of your life.”
“Can you help me?”
“No. This is very important. Just choose whoever you like the most. Any god you pick is good—except for the one with no hair. He is very mean, Caio. Do you understand me? Don’t pick the man with no hair.”
“Yes, Lucie.”
“Good. It will be very easy. Very, very easy.”
Lucia played with Caio as they waited for their father. They pretended his toy animals were being fed by the goddess Jacopa, the Mother of Nature’s Abundance.
The arched, wooden door creaked as it opened and her father entered the room with a satisfied gleam in his eyes. Lucia smiled at seeing him happy, a rare sight since her mother’s death.
“There’s my special son!” Her father squatted as Caio ran to him squealing with joy. “On his special day.” Vieri pressed the side of Caio’s face against his chest and hugged his tiny body. “Ready?” he asked her.
“Yes. Can I hold Caio’s hand and lead him? He’ll be more comfortable—”
“No.” He shook his head as if she’d asked an ignorant question. “The people will want to see him with me.”
I’m the one who takes care of him, she wanted to say. You should let me do it.
“Caio, has Lucia explained what is going to happen?”
“Yes.” Caio nodded his head vigorously.
“Good. Put your hands together like this and pray with me. Good.”
Lucia knelt and did the same, thinking it’s what her father would want her to do.
“We pray to you, The Ten of Lux Lucis, to lead Caio to his ideal patron today. My Lord Galleazzo, we pray thy will be done.” He prayed to his chosen deity, the god commonly worshiped by Rezzian kings.
Vieri stood, lifted Caio into his arms, and carried him out of the room. Lucia followed behind them so her father wouldn’t see any disappointment on her face. Her father’s heavy footsteps echoed through the wide clay halls, while Caio talked to himself in his tiny voice.
Muscled soldiers guarded each corner, standing with stately posture. Lucia tried not to stare at them, but she found their sculpted bodies too tempting to ignore. As usual, the soldiers did not look back.
As they wound through the holy palace toward the atrium, the chanting and commotion of the pilgrims grew louder, as if they were coming upon a great waterfall of human voices.
The king stopped at the twisting stairs leading down to the cavernous hall. Lucia peered through the cloud of sweet incense. Directly beneath the circular opening in the clay roof, dim sunlight reflected off the clear pool. On the other side of the stone path around the water, the ten alabaster statues of the gods towered over thousands of devotees.
Communal religious ceremonies typically required worshipers to wear their sacred cream cremos robes to honor the unity of The Gods of Light. But on this day, the people celebrated the diversity of the gods with dress unique to each divinity.
From below, a powerful voice shouted the prayer, “Havah ilz avah Haizzem!” The crowd of hundreds repeated after him before they observed silence.
Lucia followed her father down the wide steps. A gathering of dignitaries received them at the landing. She recognized some of the most senior warpriests, bald men in loose, white tunics that covered all but their hands and feet. She recognized the three highest-ranking strategoi, military commanders in tasseled red uniforms; one of them, a cheerful man with curly hair, winked at her. Tiberio, the highest warpriest, The Exalted, stepped forward muttering prayers and sprinkled holy water on Caio’s forehead.
Tiberio took Caio and carried the young Haizzem through the crowd. Lucia followed beside her father. They walked past worshipers of the goddess Vani jumping in place with their hands in the air, wearing colorful jewelry and crowns made of lavender flowers. One of them caressed Lucia’s hair as she walked past.
Silver-haired Tiberio led them toward the pool and statues, to the front of the crowd, between the statues of Lord Galleazzo and his wife, the goddess Jacopa. By the statue of Galleazzo, the stately followers of her father’s patron god wore golden sashes across one shoulder, over their short white tunics and leather girdles. They bowed to their king and kept their heads low.
The barefoot devotees of the goddess Jacopa mostly wore primitive dress, earthy, non-dyed clothing. Each of them held either a pomegranate or an orange. Lucia assumed they brought the fruits to give to Caio if he chose their goddess.
The statues of Lord Danato and his sister the goddess Ysa stood across the circle. Lucia gave a quick glance at the bald, black-clothed devotees of Lord Danato. Many of them had a tattoo of an orange tear beneath their left eyes. Seeing them, Lucia felt unclean beneath her skin.
She focused on the devotees of the goddess Ysa, her patron goddess, The Protector of Man. The men and women who worshiped Ysa wore red metal circles in their earlobes and clean yellow dresses or tunics. The metal symbolized the goddess’s holy shield, a relic Lucia knew she would be entrusted with some day.
Tiberio placed Caio on the ground before the statue of Lord Galleazzo, the traditional choice for a future king. “Choose your god, young Haizzem.” Tiberio sprinkled more holy water over Caio and stepped back, still muttering prayers.
Good luck, Caio! Lucia felt so excited she wanted to squeal.
Caio looked up at Lord Galleazzo’s statue and smiled, but turned to his left and continued along the ancient stone path around the sunken pool. King Vieri’s eyes drooped in disappointment.
Her brother looked up at the joyful goddess Orazia and giggled, leading to contagious laughter erupting around the atrium. Behind the statue, Orazia’s worshipers cheered. The beloved of Orazia stood out with their bright, parti-colored clothing.
Caio continued to the statue of broad Lord Sansone, The Servant of Man. Miniature black anvils hung from the corded necklaces of the god’s worshipers. They wore common, coarse wool and looked sturdier than the other devotees, many of them powerfully built. Little Caio turned his head and studied the statue with a mischievous smile.
The crowd held its breath.
The boy lifted his head and walked on, his stubby legs carrying him to the statue of the goddess Vani, The Bringer of Love. He left a tiny red object at the goddess’s feet and kept moving around the circle. Lucia realized he’d dropped a toy pig he must have carried with him.
Caio approached the statue of powerful Lord Danato, The Black One, and stopped directly under the god’s frowning glare. The boy looked around the circle for Lucia. She waved to him and barely shook her head ‘no.’
Her brother walked to the goddess Ysa. Caio studied the goddess’s armor, rounded shield, and sword. He sat and put one of his little hands to his cheeks, as if contemplating. Ysa’s devotees lowered themselves to their knees and prostrated to the young Haizzem. He turned back to Lucia and smiled his dimpled smile before moving on to the next god.
Behind the statue of Lord Cosimo, the god’s male followers wore only loincloths, while Cosimo’s female devotees covered their bodies in loose, purple robes. Caio raised his red and black hands and clapped them for The Lord of Miracles before continuing on.
He skipped to the goddess Mya. Vines covered her statue as well as the next statue, her brother Lord Oderigo. Vine circlets wrapped around the foreheads of Mya’s worshipers. Vine-wrapped cloth belts decorated the followers of Lord Oderigo. Their devotees shared in common sea green and royal blue tunics running down to their ankles.
Caio skipped on toward Lord Oderigo. He stopped, chuckling unselfconsciously for some time as the crowd laughed with him. He walked between the statues of Oderigo and Mya, off the stone path, then sat on the hard clay and stared at the pool.
A ray of sunshine burst through the smoky air and landed on Caio and the two statues beside him. The vines adorning Mya and Oderigo grew down the statues, onto the floor, and crept toward the boy. The vine from Mya wrapped around his left forearm; the vine from Lord Oderigo wrapped around his right.
“Havah ilz avah Haizzem!” The Exalted shouted, and the crowd repeated the chant ten times.
Lucia realized that either Caio had just chosen two deities or they had chosen him. Mya and Oderigo, brother and sister, like the goddess Ysa and Lord Danato. The vine-blessed followers of Mya and Oderigo rose to their feet and cheered as Caio stood, weeping and wailing with joy.
“My dearest Lucia.”
That sick voice again.
From behind the statue of Lord Danato, the black god himself appeared, tall as his likeness. His coal eyes froze her with terror. She couldn’t feel her body.
Lord Danato walked in front of Ysa’s statue.
Stop him, my goddess! Ysa!
The vines trailing from the statues of Mya and Oderigo seemed to be holding Caio’s tiny body in place. He giggled, playing to the crowd, and the people filled the atrium with their laughter again. Their chuckling sounded like mockery in Lucia’s ears.
Danato walked in front of The Lord of Miracles.
You’re jealous he didn’t choose you!
Lucia came to her senses and ran past her father, past Tiberio, past the statue of the goddess Jacopa. “Stop him!” she screamed. “Lord Danato’s going to kill Caio!”
Caio looked at her with his mouth wide open.
She ran in front of Lord Oderigo’s statue just as Danato stepped behind the vine-covered goddess.
A hand gripped one of her upper arms. “Lucia!” her father said through clenched teeth. “This is no time for jealousy.”
Lucia struggled to breathe. I’m not, she wanted to say.
“Warpriests, take her away. This is the Haizzem’s day.”
Lord Danato stepped behind Caio. “Sweet Lucia, do not fear your Lord.”
“Get away from him!” she yelled back.
Two bald warpriests lifted her from under her arms. She struggled at first, but it was no use fighting them. The men carried her back through the crowd. She swallowed her voice and strained to see Caio through the throng. Once they lifted her to the top of the stairs, she saw Lord Danato again, staring up at her with his hand resting on top of Caio’s skull. Caio didn’t seem to notice. The warpriests carried her into a hallway, out of the public’s view.
She squirmed. “Let me down. Let me walk.”
They released their grips. “Then go on to your chamber. We’ll follow you there.”
The military Strategos with curly hair entered the hallway. His eyes shone with concern above his rosy cheeks. “Is everything all right, Lucia?”
“No! Caio isn’t safe.”
“He’s absolutely fine,” the man said. “Perfectly all right. Can I walk with you?”
Lucia clenched her jaw and stared at him.
The Strategos put his hands on the shoulders of the two warpriests. “Let me handle this.”
They bowed to the older man and stepped back toward the stairs, watching her as they exited.
The Strategos put his hands together near his solar plexus. “My name is Duilio. I’m sorry you’re upset.”
“Lord Danato intends to kill my brother. If you want to help me, go now and protect him.”
“Your father and the warpriests won’t let that happen. I promise you, everything will be fine. I will walk with you, Lucia. Let’s talk.”
She squeezed her fists, wondering if she could run past him to get another look.
“Lucia, don’t make your father angry again. Let’s walk together please.”
She spun around in defeat and began walking toward her chamber. They passed two statuesque soldiers. Lucia kept her gaze down.
Outrage and embarrassment boiled inside her. She erupted, turning and pounding her fists against the hardened clay wall.
Duilio held her arms. She screamed through gritted teeth like a trapped animal.
“It’s all right, Lucia. It’s all right. I know you’ve been through a lot.”
“Let me go!”
“Tell me, do you know about The Lord of Miracles?”
“Of course I do.” She relaxed a little.
Duilio released her. “Will you join me in praying to him?”
Lucia slumped down onto the floor and leaned her back against the wall. “No. I only pray to Ysa. I don’t even know if she hears me.”
“Of course she does, dear. You once chose her on a day just like this, on your special day, and now she watches over you.”
Just like the goddess Jacopa looked after my mother?
“If you don’t want to pray with me, I would still like to pray for you.”
“Do what you like.”
“My Lord Cosimo, I humbly beseech you to grant Lucia your miracle. She worries about Lord Danato harming her brother. Please intercede on Lucia’s behalf. Please heal the source of her fear. Will you please? She is our royal daughter. Her brother needs her. Her father needs her. Rezzia needs her. Look after her. She more than deserves your grace.”
Lucia felt a little calmer as she heard Duilio praying.
“I saw,” she said before stopping herself. You won’t understand.
“What did you see?”
“Nothing. I’m going to my chamber.”
Lucia stood and turned her back to the Strategos. She ran to her room and heard Duilio following her at a distance.
 
~~~~~
 
The Black One shadowed Lucia as well, invisible to the eyes of men. The black god visited Lucia again that night, after she drifted off to sleep. It was the first of many more nightly visits from the god, and the onset of Lucia’s transformation.


Chapter Three: A Sacrifice for Apollo
 
 
Caio’s nineteenth birthday. The day of the Dux Spiritus ceremony in Remaes.
 
JURG FORCED HIS WAY across the white stone plaza, plowing ahead on his good leg while dragging the aching, lame one. At the end of his long journey, he held just one target in mind: the Haizzem boy.
The exotic, curving architecture of the Rezzian holy palace loomed over the crowd with its religious gravity. Behind it, the vanishing sun fell onto the desert horizon.
You’re an ugly people with an uglier religion, he thought, but you’ve made one beautiful thing—this white city. I’m glad to see it before I crumble to dust.
The pilgrims pressed in on Jurg from all directions, muttering prayers in their guttural language and shouting exultations. Their saccharine incense filled his nostrils, making his stomach sick. Jurg smashed his way through the crowd with his thick forearms, his bloodied Andaran garb staining their immaculate cremos robes. The Rezzians just swayed in worship, lost in ecstasy.
In a sea of white, Jurg was a haggard red stain.
Good thing most of the freaks are gone. Those who’d left had already received what they wanted; their holy savior had touched them. Now Jurg was one among a crowd of only a few thousand. His chances of intercepting the Haizzem might still be good.
Walk faster, you damned, useless legs. You’re not that old, are you?
Bashing his way through the crowd gave him little guilt, but leaving his people and family still weighed on his mind. He’d left the forests of Andars weeks ago, knowing he would probably never breathe in their crisp sweetness again. He’d yet to stop worrying about what would become of young Skye, Dag, and Idonea.
Amazing, how easy it is to approach this Caio. After the day’s Dux Spiritus ceremony, the Rezzians’ passion now focused on just one man, no longer two. The king retained his political throne, but the military power now belonged to his son; the religious savior was the new Dux Spiritus of Rezzia’s armies. Ironically, the young man was also believed to be a great healer.
The hypnotized crowd faced the palace, the Haizzem, and the setting sun. All at once, the people dropped to their knees in prayer, giving Jurg a clear view of the man he’d come for.
The Haizzem was like the brightest star on a hazy full moon night, the only one shining in the fog. Something about his kind face was so captivating that Jurg stopped to stare. Like most Rezzian men, the Haizzem’s thick, dark mane fell around his shoulders; but Jurg found the boy charming, even beautiful.
The young man had touched and supposedly blessed more than a hundred thousand Rezzians on this day. His filthy robe must have been grabbed by nearly everyone who’d approached him—yet the boy radiated remarkable warmth and energy.
Jurg experienced a rare moment of joy. At last, the long journey felt worthwhile. But as he saw the guards around the new Dux Spiritus, he began to question his plan.
The Haizzem stood three levels up, on the giant steps that curved around and led up to the holy palace. More than a hundred soldiers formed a wide semi-circle around him. An enormous warden stayed close beside the new Dux Spiritus, scanning the crowd with hawk-like eyes set in a gentle face; his short blond hair stood out in the sea of dark Rezzian features. Jurg’s blond hair did, too. The Haizzem’s protector would see him soon.
A shame my body isn’t what it used to be, he thought, tasting more blood in his mouth.
Many of the guards closed their eyes in prayer. Others had already turned toward the massive archway of the white palace. It must have been a welcome sight to them after the long ceremony and parade. Unfortunately, because the steps were so wide, Jurg was not nearly as close as he’d hoped to be when he approached the Haizzem. Jurg could burst past the soldiers’ line, but the blond would be ready to intercept him. A fellow Andaran.
So be it.
As the flock prayed in silence, the savior looked up and locked eyes with Jurg. If the stories about the Haizzem’s spiritual powers were true, the boy might already know why he’d come.
 
~~~~~
 
Caio gave the sun a melancholy glance. I’m not ready for this day to end.
He turned to face an elderly woman and felt the gods’ love coursing through his heart.
“My knees,” she pleaded as she grabbed his cremos robe.
“I know, love.”
He quickly kissed his red and black fingers and touched her knees. Your miracle please, Mya. Caio sensed that she would be healed of her arthritis within days. The woman stumbled back with an empty look and a young man pushed his way ahead of the devotees, into her place.
After Caio blessed a few more, his protector and friend Ilario whispered the words he’d been dreading.
“It’s time to go, my Haizzem. The sun is setting.”
Caio would have to leave the holy city tomorrow. To join his father’s war.
Ilario wasted no time, organizing the soldiers in a wide arc and putting them between the people and their Haizzem. Caio ran forward and pushed against the soldiers’ line, reaching with outstretched fingers to the crowd. They rushed toward him, grabbing at his hands and sleeves. The soldiers stood their ground, and Ilario pulled back on Caio’s robe.
Caio held his ground. “You’ll have to pull me away if you want me to go.”
Ilario’s powerful arms wrapped around Caio’s waist. Caio decided not to fight him. His friend pulled him backward, up two more steps.
“Stop.” Caio raised his left hand. “I’ll pray with them once more.”
Ilario stood aside.
Caio turned to the crowd. He kissed the fingers of his left hand, then his right. He raised his hands high, and the crowd dropped to its knees. Most of them put their heads to the ground in prostration. Caio scanned not only the crowd, but also their receptive hearts and minds. “During my absence, you must maintain your faith and devotion to the gods of Lux Lucis.”
The crowd responded in unison: “Havah ilz avah Haizzem!”
During the moment of silence that followed, a ragged figure emerged from the crowd and looked up at Caio. Aggression gleamed from his reddened eyes, though Caio sensed that the poor man felt only sorrow. They looked at each other fearfully and Caio tried to impart his grace to the foreigner through his glance. The man shook his head violently, and Caio’s heart felt stabbed by what was about to transpire. He knew if the man had focused on his gaze a moment longer, he would have received all he came for; instead the blond Andaran man began barreling toward him.
The foreigner slammed into a praying soldier with his bear-like shoulders and arms, knocking the Rezzian onto his back. The next closest soldier threw himself at the man’s legs, but the Andaran jumped over him with a hoarse yell. The foreigner sprung onto the step below Ilario and Caio.
The crowd looked up at the scene and pressed backward with shock as Ilario drew his sword, stepped forward, and yelled at the onrushing man, “Stop!”
The Andaran kept coming. He released a tormented cry and drove straight for Ilario.
No, Lord! Caio beseeched his vine-covered patron, The Lord of The Book of Time. All movement, save his own, slowed to a crawl. Caio surged forward and pulled back on Ilario’s shoulder.
“He doesn’t intend to hurt me!” Caio slipped between the two, and the normal flow of time resumed.
The Andaran fell down on his knees, grabbed Caio’s revered feet, and began to wail.
Caio yelled to his protectors as they sped toward him, “Let him be! He means me no harm.” He held the man’s head and caressed his matted hair.
The crowd continued scattering away. Someone screamed that the foreigner carried the new plague.
Ilario held his sword high, ready to strike. “You don't need to help him.”
“His disease cannot harm me,” Caio said.
Ilario took three steps back and sheathed his blade. He pursed his lips and looked around at the crowd while Caio consoled the sobbing foreigner.
Caio searched the man’s emotions and felt his concern for his family. He spoke in the man’s native tongue, “Feel the goddess Mya's cool grace, my brother. Receive her healing warmth in your heart.” He squatted and leaned over to kiss the back of the man's head and his cheeks. He tasted the man’s sweat and tears.
Then she appeared.
The goddess Mya revealed herself to Caio alone. Her short dress made of lush vines left her shoulders and knees bare and elegant. Her soft brown hair gathered behind her head, tied loosely enough for some to hang neatly around the sides of her face. She sat down on the other side of the sick man and stroked his back to comfort him, looking down with a countenance like a calm lake.
The man's body writhed with spasms. He cried and pleaded in Andaran, “Help me. Heal me or make the suffering go away. I’ve come so far.”
“I know you have.” Caio leaned closer and whispered in the man’s ear, with an arm around his shoulder, “She will help you, if you rest in her grace. Everything else will take care of itself.”
The man stopped shaking. His entire body surrendered and relaxed on the pale clay. He rolled onto his side and showed Caio his blissful face. His arm beneath his body reached up to the sky with palm upturned, then fell flat against the ground.
Mya, why?
The goddess's eyes flashed toward her beloved before returning to their downward gaze.
Caio cradled the dying man’s head in his hands and looked into his faraway eyes. “She blesses you. She wants your suffering to end. She will protect you in the afterlife.”
Though I wish she would save you, and return you to your family.
The attention of the hushed crowd focused on Caio as he held the dying man.
The peeling skin on the man’s face glowed as his pale lips stretched gleefully. He whispered, “I never believed in your gods … Not once in my life.”
The foreigner’s eyelids closed.
Ilario stepped forward and rested his strong hands on Caio's shoulders. “Let’s go. You need to rest.”
Caio stood up and looked at the crowd with sadness. He raised his hands as the guards reassembled in their formation. The people nearest to him prostrated again and the rest followed, all of them moving downward in a gentle wave.
The dead man’s body lay abandoned on the wide step. Caio struggled to put the man’s family out of his mind.
“I will return soon, after our victory. The gods of Lux Lucis watch over you.” Caio put his hands together prayerfully and a warm tranquility took root among the faithful. They chanted in unison:
“Havah ilz avah Haizzem!”
“Havah ilz avah Haizzem!”
“Havah ilz avah Haizzem!”


Chapter Four: The Remonstrations of Achilles
 
 
Two days later.
 
ILARIO’S HORSE CRESTED THE DRY HILL with Caio beside him, giving them their best view of the reinforcements since they had set off from Remaes the day after the Dux Spiritus ceremony. Elite spear throwers from Satrina and light cavalry from Lympia marched with the legions of heavy infantry from the holy city. The organized procession stretched westward past the distant horizon, ten soldiers wide and thousands of soldiers long.
“Isn’t your army impressive?” Ilario asked.
Caio glanced in Ilario’s direction with a grin. “You’re still trying to get me used to the ‘my army’ concept?”
“As usual, you’ve read my mind.” Ilario put his heel to his stallion and they started down the hill. Below, the Neda River ambled across the road, flanked by desert trees.
Caio leaned toward Ilario. “It will be a long time before my father’s boots fit me, if they ever do.”
“You should keep an open mind.”
“Only in my nightmares.” Caio winked. “At least I’m blessed to have good company with me.”
“We should have a talk.” Ilario pointed to the river. “Let’s have a rest by that cluster of trees?”
Caio glanced up at the red sun. “Even Lord Galleazzo would welcome the shade.”
They dismounted on the soft earth by the riverbank, under the cover of long-limbed trees. Ilario grabbed two waterskins off his dark chestnut steed and waited for the warpriests to lead their mounts to drink. The percussive chirping of the insects came as a welcome change from the clamor of the marching army. Ilario inhaled deep breaths to savor the fresh air.
More than a dozen horse-pulled water wagons rolled up to the river. The servants and slaves rushed around, refilling the urns. Hundreds of soldiers milled about, many of them heading to the river to drink and bathe. Many more gathered around their Haizzem to receive his blessing.
Ilario stood beside Caio and scrutinized each man who approached him. At least they were quick about walking up to him, bowing, and moving on after Caio touched their foreheads. One man held up the line to ask Caio to pray for his family, but no one lingered too long. Eventually the crowd dispersed.
“Shall we?” Ilario started for the grove he’d spotted earlier.
“What is it you want to talk to me about, brother?”
“Can you tell? What do you sense?” Ilario asked.
“I can feel your sense of responsibility, not only to me, but also to our kingdom. You probably want me to embrace my duty.”
Right again. “I’ve watched you for nearly ten years now. It’s strange to see you like this. You’re not a pessimist.”
Caio rubbed his forehead. “This campaign has gone on for more than nine years, and we’ve made little progress. I don’t even believe in this—”
“That’s a very big problem. You are our Haizzem. You are our Dux Spiritus. You must lead us to victory.”
“I’d rather be in Remaes, healing the sick and comforting the bereaved, leading worship in The Reveria, not praying over the funeral pyres of soldiers who didn’t have to die.”
“These men left their homes to fight for your father. Now they look to you. You must show them they haven’t fought in vain, that their brothers haven’t died for nothing. If you don’t dedicate yourself to winning this war, many more will fall.”
“I have to take lives to save lives.”
“Unfortunately, yes. That is your duty and you need to accept it.”
Caio exhaled a loud breath. “You’re right.” He frowned. “I don’t have a choice, except between killing Pawelons or letting our men be killed. That’s not much of a choice, is it?”
“No one ever said war is the most noble thing a man can do, but once this is done you can do better things.”
“Maybe afterward I’ll finally have time to heal the world? All those I could help if I weren’t going to this gods-forsaken canyon?”
“Your father nearly defeated Pawelon on his own. With you and Lucia beside him, we’ll have the power of four gods, Caio!”
“Yes, I know. I only have to ask my goddess to kill for me. I’m sure The Compassionate One will want to do that.”
“Put your trust in history. Haizzem win wars. You were born to do this.”
Caio looked away and kept quiet for some time. “It doesn’t feel like it. Maybe I’m not like the other Haizzem.”
“But how would you know? You’ve never had to do anything you didn’t want to do.”
Caio continued walking, giving no answer.
“I apologize, my Haizzem. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I beg your forgiveness.”
“You could never offend me, Ilario. It’s only that … until this I’ve always enjoyed doing the things that were expected of me.”
“Your father’s put a lot of faith in you. You cannot disappoint him.”
They entered the grove and came upon a unit of ten soldiers resting. Ilario commanded them to rise. The men stood and bowed, muttering, “Havah ilz avah Haizzem.”
Ilario waved his hands. “Clear out.”
“Yes, sir.” They hurried away. One of them walked up to Caio and bowed his head to receive the Haizzem’s blessing before continuing on.
Ilario and Caio sat against the trees, and Ilario threw Caio a waterskin. Ilario lifted his and filled his dry mouth with hot water. He took another sip and spat it back out. “We should’ve refilled at the river first.” Ilario said. He met Caio’s eyes.
Caio’s voice was kind, as ever. “My friend, I know there’s something else weighing on you.”
Ilario looked down and mashed his lips together. I hope you don’t—
“You’re worried about someone you love,” Caio said.
Please don’t.
“You know,” Caio continued, “I’ve been thinking a lot about Lucia. She’s certainly brave, supporting our army without my father’s help—or mine. What does she know about war?”
“Lucia’s trained for this. She carries Ysa’s sword and shield. Her goddess will keep her safe until we arrive.”
Caio looked at Ilario with understanding eyes. “Are you worried about her?”
Gods! It’s so hard to hide anything from you.
Caio continued, “Let’s continue to speak freely. Do you have feelings for her? You know you can tell me the truth. I wish you would before we reach the canyon.”
The truth was that Ilario couldn’t wait to see her again. Ironically, the war could give him the chance to finally spend meaningful time with her. Lucia had spent most of the last nine years visiting the provinces, maintaining her father’s alliances. Every time she returned to Remaes, Ilario had been involved with other women. Now he was determined to tell her how he felt—even though he knew it wouldn’t make any difference in the end. She deserved someone better than him, someone with status, someone who could devote the time to her she deserved.
“Ilario, I wouldn’t judge you. Believe me, I’d much rather see Lucia with you than with someone I barely know.”
Impossible. “I can’t talk about this, my Haizzem.” She’s your sister.
“Know that you would have my blessing.”
It would be an insult to your father after all he’s done for me.
“And my father loves you like a son,” Caio said.
“Please. I can’t.”
Caio nodded in defeat.
Ilario wiped his brow with the hard muscles of his arms. Despite his marjoram and cardamom scented oils, he still reeked of sweat. “Shall we go back?”
“Give me a little more time. I like it here. This reminds me of when we went to Gallikos.”
With Lucia.
Ilario heard voices approaching from the river and surged to his feet. He gripped the pommel of his sword at his hip as he searched through the trees. “It’s your father.”
Caio put one hand on Ilario’s shoulder and leaned against him. “Just remember I wouldn’t judge you.”
Ilario’s heart filled with relief and guilt at the same time.
The king approached with two warpriests and two soldiers at his side. He wore a long, loose tunic, maroon with yellow stitching at his shoulders and down the center of his chest.
Ilario knelt and bowed his head.
“Ilario, I take it my son came here to rest?”
“Yes, my King.”
“Then I hope you don’t mind my presence. Soon we won’t have opportunities like this.”
Caio clasped his father’s forearm, as his father clasped his. “Of course you’re welcome here, Father. I’m glad you’ve come.”
“Please stand, Ilario.” The king motioned the soldiers and warpriests away. He glanced up at the canopy of trees. “Such a pleasant oasis.”
Vieri removed a sealed parchment from his belt and handed it to Caio. “It’s from your sister. The messenger told me she wrote it yesterday, first thing in the morning. She asked him to ride as fast as he could. It’s addressed strictly to you.”
“Thank you.” Caio broke the red wax seal, unfolded Lucia’s letter, and scanned it. “It’s a bit long. I’ll read it soon.” He folded the paper and tucked it into his belt.
“There’s something I need to tell you both, something I am going to need your help with,” the king said. “When I was in Remeas, Tiberio told me something disturbing.” His eyes turned glassy as he diverted his gaze. “He sensed some sort of darkness around Lucia. He told me I should search out the cause of her suffering.”
Ilario felt his blood surging with anger. He clutched the black anvil hanging off his necklace, and asked his family’s god Sansone to protect her.
“Tiberio’s words were cryptic, but he suggested that I am partly to blame for her affliction.” Vieri’s unfocused eyes rolled around, gazing at the landscape. “It seems absurd. But I will need you to look out for her, Son. And you, Ilario.”
“Certainly, my King,” Ilario said with his jaw tight.
Caio’s wide eyes looked devastated. “Of course I will. I’ll also pray to Mya to give Lucia comfort, and ask Lord Oderigo for insight.”
“Very good,” his father answered quickly. “You’ll let me know whatever you discover.”
“Do you know anything else about her condition, my King?” Ilario asked.
“The Exalted told me three days ago that he believed Lucia had not been harmed in battle. He described the dark force as something of a mystery, even to his profound sight. I have put my trust in the goddess Ysa to protect my daughter, and I have faith that she will. Let’s speak of this no more. Worrying will do us no good.”
Neither will ignoring this, Ilario thought.
King Vieri put his hands behind his back and stepped around the clearing, looking up at the greenery. “Now tell me something, Dux Spiritus, how does it feel to finally have a hundred thousand warriors at your disposal?”
Ilario heard a hint of jealousy in the king’s voice. Only two days before, Vieri had relinquished his position as Dux Spiritus to his son, after being Rezzia’s military leader for nearly thirty years.
“It’s different, Father … It’s entirely new.”
“I should hope it’s more thrilling than that.”
“I mean no disrespect,” Caio said. “You know I am honored that you’ve put so much faith in me.”
Vieri looked down at his son with his sad, brown eyes. “My decision required no faith at all.” He walked to Caio and held up his son’s red and black hands. “These are the hands of a Haizzem. The gods promise us you will succeed where I have not.”
“Pawelon is a worthy foe.”
Vieri dropped Caio’s hands and intensified his stare. “They shouldn’t be. Pawelon is where your legacy begins.”
“And where yours will continue,” Caio said.
The king kept his eyes on his son. “Ilario, you know Caio so much better than I. Do you truly feel he is ready for this glory?”
“Our Haizzem will not disappoint you, my King. He amazes me more every day. He will surely make you proud.”
“I am sure of it, too.” Vieri turned his eyes to Ilario. “Thank you again for being like a brother to him while I was at war. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”
“Of course. It has always been the highest honor and a joy.”
The king stepped to Ilario and they grabbed each other’s forearms. “I chose well. You were the right man. Never hesitate to ask me for anything you need.”
“You honor me again. I will never be able to thank you enough for all you’ve given me.”
“Do this for me, then. Make sure my son is ready for this war. My legacy depends on it.”


Chapter Five: The Furies
 
 
The day after the Dux Spiritus ceremony.
 
EXHAUSTED FROM THE DAY’S CARNAGE, Lucia wrapped herself in white sheets and prayed to the goddess Ysa before resigning herself to another unbearable night. After a long, somber quiet she was not yet aware the cloth had become soaked in red; she would need time to understand why.
 
~~~~~
 
As Lucia lay in sheer darkness, the voice of the god Danato rumbled all around her: “Don’t you hear me, my daughter?”
Why do you even ask?
“Why do you not answer your Lord?”
Because you’ve invaded my bed and my dreams? Damn you for making me feel ill again!
“Only one god dwells in the dark. Do you believe I wished to be him?”
More gods-damned theology.
“I did not. I chose the lot I had to choose. This is the nature of free will, for both gods and men. Choosing and wishing are not the same. Soon you and your brother will know this, too.”
How long can a narcissistic god talk to himself?
“If none of us had chosen to live in the underworld, you would have no gods or goddesses. My sister Ysa could not exist without me. Remember, you are called to worship us all.”
And I neither wished for that, nor chose it.
“We chose Rezzia and made your people special. We gave you religion and noble purpose. We watch over you. Yet you reject me, Lucia.”
You traumatized an innocent girl and want to be worshiped? Perhaps it’s forgiveness you’re after? I still remember the sensation of my own flesh burning night after night in my dreams.
“The truth is that I love you, now and forever. Sleep deeper, my daughter. Sleep deeper.”
Lucia awoke to eerie sunlight shining through the canopy of her royal yurt, and was appalled to find a crowd waiting for her. Ten Rezzian guards stood in their cream tunics, with their backs turned to her bed. With their identical wide belts and sheathed swords, it was impossible to tell them apart.
She bolted upright and tightened her robe. “What is this?” As she ran her fingers through her long hair, she found all of it soaked with sweat. A rotten, sweet odor filled the air.
The guards moved to either side of the yurt, giving her a view of a tattered family of four—more sufferers of the new plague. They sat with their legs folded and stared down shamefully at the palatial rug. The little boy and girl leaned against their mother, their bare feet twitching.
“We couldn’t leave them outside,” a soldier said.
The father lifted his head slightly but kept his gaze downward. “Your Grace, we are dying. We need a miracle from our Haizzem. Can you grant us the gods’ mercy? At least heal our children, if nothing more. Please!”
“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 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 understand 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.”
“You’re right, General.” The voice of the sage Briraji came as a surprise.
“Welcome, Briraji,” Rao said, “we were just—”
“Engaging in an adolescent’s debate,” Briraji quipped. “General, I can relieve Rao from his duty.”
“Then do so, master sage,” Indrajit said. “Prince Rao, I have no more use for you on this day.” Indrajit’s eyes bored into Rao once more. “Officers!” The general strode ahead and began giving his men directions for the coming battle.
Rao slowed and stayed behind the commotion, but remained close enough to observe the general.
Briraji kept pace with Rao. “You will see us using some truly amazing powers today. I have a deadly surprise for their leadership. Watch for it. It will come from the heavens.” Briraji recoiled as crackling lightning illuminated swift, dark clouds over the valley.
The goddess Ysa, Rao realized. This storm means the royal daughter is here.
Rao maintained a respectful tone, as his training dictated with a high-ranking sage. “I will observe your powers, Briraji, and hope to learn from you, when you deem me worthy enough to teach.”
Brijaji only narrowed his eyes.
Indrajit yelled at Rao from a dozen paces away, “I go now to defend Pawelon.”
Rao yelled back, “I can’t sanction your aggression, but I will protect our men. This storm is from their goddess Ysa. The royal daughter must be here. She will have her own powers.”
“Good. Then she will be my target,” Briraji said, beside him.
More lightning flashed between the darkening clouds.
“We will handle them with or without you.” A rare smile appeared on Indrajit’s face, and he yelled louder so that more men could hear him. “It’s a shame the rajah’s only living son is afraid to fight a girl. If your brothers had lived, perhaps your father could have been proud of one of them. Our enemies killed the wrong ones.”
Indrajit’s taunting felt like an icy blade piercing Rao’s heart. The general obviously knew more about Rao’s family history than he did.
Rao moved outside the formation and let the waves of soldiers march past him. He scanned the determined faces of the rows of men marching toward the battle.
If I can do anything about it, these men will not die today.
He followed the troops into the valley, and climbed atop the highest rise overlooking what was to be the battlefield. Only parched shrubs, noisy insects, and black birds seemed to live at the valley floor. Hills and ditches made much of the canyon land uneven, but the armies were converging on a plain. Another great mass of Pawelon troops approached from the southern trail, but they wouldn’t be able to join the battle for some time. Because of this, the Pawelon troops near Rao were outnumbered by at least two to one.
The Pawelon and Rezzian armies marched closer together. Closer and closer until Pawelon’s forces were commanded to stop. Their infantry extended long spears and held great round shields along the front lines, weaving a tapestry of muscle and iron to punish any Rezzian charge. On a hill near to Rao, a score of sages stood with their arms held rigidly overhead like the branches of tall trees, humming a complex scale of mystical tones.
The enemy’s legions charged as expected, running ahead in great rectangular formations with their long, curling rectangular shields held in front of their bodies and over their heads. Pawelon’s archers pulled back on their bows, a sinewy and screeching racket, and unleashed their volley.
Pawelon’s missiles took flight in a black swarm. The sages’ toning deepened. As their humming grew louder and reached a stirring pitch, the arrow swarm expanded before raining down in a supernatural torrent, the density of arrows multiplied by the sages’ powers. Rezzian screams filled the air. Rao observed the horrible noise with detachment, not allowing himself to feel or contemplate its full meaning.
He breathed deliberately, pulling his consciousness inward, seeking his calm center.
A high-pitched whine blared from the darkening heavens. A blazing object burned through the sky, aiming at the rear of the Rezzian army. The celestial fireball arced down and exploded with an ear-splitting boom, creating an eruption of high-flying sparks near the center of Rezzia’s forces. The valley floor shook, rumbled, and cracked.
As if responding, the clouds swirled faster, turned pitch-black, and hovered above Pawelon’s forces. A vicious, freezing wind blew down on them.




Chapter Seven: To Dream of Battle
 
 
BY THE TIME LUCIA SET OFF on horseback to meet Strategos Duilio, the Rezzian army had already begun its trek through the valley. The formations inched forward like an army of ants in the basin of Gallea’s most impressive canyon, long-haired infantry clattering with tall shields on their left arms, held throwing spears poking up above right shoulders, fat double-edged stabbing swords still sheathed, wrought iron cuirasses over maroon tunics, and bronze helms with long cheek guards and colorful horsehair plumes.
Pawelon’s citadel peered mockingly over the edge of the high western rim. The Rezzians anticipated the usual skirmishes with their enemy on the trails leading up to the fortress. Early battles each day typically took place around the mouth of the northern or southern trail, sometimes at both locations. Pawelon would either fortify the wide trailheads with countless rows of long spears, and archers stationed on ledges in the cliffs, or they would spread out their forces with long spearmen placed, at least seven rows deep, at the most narrow points along the two routes to the citadel.
Whenever the Pawelons left thin resistance below, the Rezzians climbed in tight formations like tortoises, carrying their curved shields at their front, sides, rear, and over their heads to defend against any Pawelon archers able to find purchase among the tall cliffs.
Throughout the Rezzian army, it was widely believed that the apathy of Lord Galleazzo, King Vieri’s patron god, had blocked them from reaching the citadel over the previous year. The soldiers also noted that the new plague began soon after their martial luck turned even more sour. But by divine will—whether miraculous or ironic—the plague had spared the army itself; the sickness only afflicted the common people of Rezzia and their neighbors.
 
~~~~~
 
Lucia rode toward the troops on her white mare, flanked by her bald warpriest guards. She’d been told the canyon floor had been beautiful before so many soldiers trampled its vegetation over the course of the war. Still, the desert smelled clean and fresh, noisy insects and birds lived among the land, and the red dirt held a hint of magic, despite its bloody history.
To distract her thoughts from the impending carnage, she mused on Ilario’s arrival. There would be no other women around the camp besides the harlots, so he would have no more excuses. If he wanted to be with her, this would be his chance to say it.
Up ahead, a standard-bearer held the round, tasseled, crimson and gold imperial flag, a proud rendering of the sun. Normally the standard would follow the king in battle, but for now it signaled the Strategos’s position at the rear of the army’s dust cloud. After a pull on Albina’s reins and a firm kick, Lucia soon approached the old man whom her father had entrusted with his legions.
The Strategos was nearly seventy now, with curly white hair hanging down to his shoulders. Duilio’s kind disposition shone from his rosy face, a countenance Lucia found odd amusingly ill-fitting on the commander of Rezzia’s feared army.
“Tell me, how does Your Grace fare on this glorious day?”
Lucia surprised herself with a smile brought on by Duilio’s charm. She wondered how he managed to remain so cheerful in such a soul-crushing place.
“It’s the most recent worst day of my life,” she said. “Thank you for asking.”
“I hope you will continue to let me know every way I can make you feel more comfortable. Your father and brother come closer to us every day now—we expect them in merely two days.”
“I don’t suppose we could call all of this off then? Take a holiday to celebrate our new Dux Spiritus?”
“If you would prefer it, Your Grace.”
So very tempting, she thought. “It hardly seems practical, Strategos.”
They rode on in silence. She knew Duilio was giving her the chance to agree to his offer, but her father’s instructions were clear: Engage the enemy at every opportunity, just as he would. Maintain pressure and do not let the Pawelons rest, so that victory will come soon after Caio’s arrival.
“Your Grace, do you know much about Lord Cosimo?”
“Strategos, you asked me the same question when I was a girl.”
Duilio reached behind his breastplate and gathered his ragged necklace, pulling up the hanging symbol of his god, a curved letter in the ancient script indicating the vast totality of all possibilities. “Few understand The Lord of Miracles. Most take miracles to be gifts that come freely to the lucky. If you would like to join me in praying to him today, pray not for powerful wonders to rescue us, but for the dedication to noble values and endeavors which make us worthy of receiving such grace—”
“Duilio, why are our soldiers stopping?” Odd, because they were far from the trails that climbed to Pawelon’s citadel.
“A very good question, Your Grace.”
Soon every soldier stopped and looked around for an answer. A messenger on horseback brought shocking news. The Pawelons had marched, early in the morning, perhaps all of their forces into the valley, half of them down the northern passage, half down the southern one. Two rectangular formations would soon approach, one from the northwest and one from the southwest, so that in the worst event Rezzia’s army could be outflanked by a monstrous pincer.
From Danato’s nightmare hell to this one, Lucia thought.
She waited with Duilio for Rezzia’s commanders to join them to discuss their strategy. The rest of the army sat and chattered in hushed but excited tones.
Lucia watched the sky filling with dark clouds and felt humidity moistening her face. What madness is this?
I’m dreaming. She looked high and low for signs of Lord Danato. No, I woke up this morning. But these black clouds! And this unbelievable challenge from Pawelon. This cannot be reality. They wouldn’t change their tactics and throw their entire army at us.
“What now, Danato?” she mumbled without intending to. You want me to experience all of our soldiers dying this time? “Wake me up now, bastard,” she meant to speak the second time.
“What is that, Your Grace?”
“Duilio, they wouldn’t leave their citadel, would they?”
“I apologize. I did not foresee this possibility.”
“The bulk of their forces have remained close to their citadel the entire war.” Lucia pointed up to the west. “Isn’t this absurd?”
“It is indeed a drastic departure for General Indrajit.”
“And the clouds. How often do you see clouds like these in the valley?”
“Never before, Your Grace.” Duilio searched the sky, contemplating. “We must hope it is not an ill omen for us. Perhaps the omen is for Pawelon. They are acting out of character.”
Show your foul face to me, Black One.
Lord Danato did not appear. Instead, a veteran council of long-haired Rezzians quickly formed around Duilio and Lucia.
First came young Tirso, from the far eastern coastal villages, believed by his men to be the son of the god Sansone. Heavy Manto, from the sparse forests south of Remaes, rode to them on a fat, dull horse. Fair Raf, long bearded and moustached, from the wide nomadic plains, carried the historic great sword of his tribe across his back. Noble Alimene, known throughout the army for his captivating tales of the sea, represented the great port city of Peraece.
The brothers Fulvio and Forese, sons of the wealthiest family in Rezzia, from the Lympia province made fertile by the goddess Jacopa. Giunto, the protector of the great walled city of Petrus, so feared by the Andaran tribes to the north. Wandering Belincion, leader of a mysterious order of men and women devoted to the goddess Vani. And from the empty, lifeless region of Satrina came Pexaro, slovenly cousin to Lucia’s father, who brought with him a constant stream of deadly spear throwers.
“Is it possible they outnumber us?” said a voice from the chorus.
“It is possible. Yes,” Duilio answered. “Their numbers are a mystery, but our scouts estimate their forces to be relatively equal to our own.”
Mighty Tirso barked from beneath his red-plumed helm, “It wouldn’t matter if they outnumbered us three to one. Once we close with them, their spearmen will be no match for our swords.”
Giunto slammed the butt of his throwing spear into the ground. “Our Haizzem ascends to Dux Spiritus and, look, our prayers have been answered. We have a chance to fight the pigs on a real battlefield, as if they were not cowards for just one day.”
“But our position is a disadvantage,” Belincion said in placid tones. “They come from the north and the south.”
“No,” Giunto answered, “we still have strategic options if we act quickly.”
Tirso explained, “Move the bulk of our troops either directly north or south, being sure to keep the Pawelons in front of us. They will not dance with us all day. When they close in, we will not find ourselves caught between them.”
“And that would be suicide for our camp,” Vani countered. “Our food and water. Our tents and supplies. The wounded and the servants could all be killed.”
Tirso stepped toward Belincion and leaned his spear forward. “Only if they keep their forces split, giving us an overwhelming advantage against whatever they send against us. We still have reserve men and warpriests at the camp.”
“And that could mean total victory for Rezzia.” Giunto’s expressive face shone with courage. “Praises to the gods of Lux Lucis!”
Bearded Raf raised one hand. “Be cautious, brothers! The pigs’ sages must have surprises in store for us. We have an obligation to our Haizzem not to risk his army.”
“Indeed.” Fulvio looked like a king in his exquisite, brightly polished armor. “We may not be ready for their dark trickery. And the gods only seem to ignore us. Soon our Haizzem will come. We should behave guardedly until he arrives.”
“Your Grace,” The old Strategos turned his soft eyes to Lucia, “I regret that you are in the middle of this predicament, in which we find ourselves unprepared. Is there anything you wish to say?”
Lucia dismounted and stood among the men. She removed Ysa’s helm and tossed her dark red hair behind her shoulders. “I find all of this hard to believe.” She looked around and behind them, finding nothing of Danato. Fine, I’ll play your awful game. “Their sudden desperation could be to our advantage, but it seems they’re looking for a wild melee. Why play into their hands? There is still time to fall back and protect our camp.”
“We are not cowards.” Tirso did not move as he spoke.
“We did not come to retreat from an inferior enemy,” Giunto said.
Alimene bowed before he spoke. “Your Grace, my men left their families to join your father. They came to glorify their souls, their gods, and their king in battle. Now they can finally prove their worth as warriors on even ground.”
Lucia held Ysa’s helm to one side and placed her other hand on her opposite shoulder. “I admit if my father were here, he would engage them. But now this army belongs to my brother. We cannot be reckless. We’ll be stronger once my brother is here.”
Tirso crossed his spear in front of his shield as he leaned his head back. “Duilio, will you see my warriors commanded to flee by a woman?”
Lucia fired back. “I do not command this army, Tirso, the Strategos does, and he will decide our course. I am only here to carry the relics of Ysa to protect our warriors.” Lucia unsheathed Ysa’s white sword, pointed its tip at Tirso’s feet, and rotated the blade. Duilio bowed while astride his horse and the others bowed from their standing positions. She lifted Ysa’s bejeweled shield, miraculously light on her gloved arm, and slammed the flat of her blade against it, producing a rousing hum that silenced the assembly.
I dare you, Danato, to torture me with your sister’s relics in my hands.
 
~~~~~
 
Unseen by all, the petite, blond goddess Ysa rode her enormous bone-white horse around the council. The beast stepped around the assembly with godlike patience, a perfect reflection of its rider. Ysa’s stoical face pointed away, to the Pawelons in the west, as the goddess absorbed the council’s words.
 
~~~~~
 
“Do you believe Ysa will protect our men this day?” Alimene asked.
“How long have our ancestors fought under the spiritual protection of Ysa's sword and shield? For centuries. Yet I can only pray to my goddess with her instruments in my hands. I can’t make any promises about what gods will do.” I don’t understand their logic at all.
“My brothers,” said a voice from the chorus, “look at the coming storm! Perhaps the goddess Ysa is with us already.”
Lucia hadn’t considered that. It might be true, although the sky was also dark enough to indicate another deceit from Lord Danato.
“He is right!” Giunto said. “Look, how swiftly they move. They must be from Ysa!”
“Brothers, it is time for a decision,” Duilio said in his easy voice, astride his decorated horse. “I can only believe what Tirso and Giunto have suggested. Look at how the clouds come from the west, casting a dark shadow over Pawelon’s army. I believe Ysa is with us today—all praises to The Protector of Man—and that she is prepared to defend us with her storm and fury. I feel this in my heart, men, do you not? Are we not in the right?”
Fulvio and Forese nodded vehemently. Their nodding grew contagious and a consensus formed with cheering followed by raised throwing spears.
“Then we shall do as our king has instructed us,” Duilio continued. “We must engage and pressure our enemy, and weaken them for his return and for the coming of our Haizzem. We will grant our royal daughter her wishes, as well. Manto, I must send you and your men back to our camp. Remain there, no matter what occurs in the valley, and ready our defenses in case they are needed. The rest of us will immediately march north. Raf, lead your cavalry quickly ahead and prepare to slip around their right flank when we rush forward.
“Should they move their forces toward our camp as we move aside, we will allow it, block their retreat, and trap them in the valley. We will defeat all they send against us, and with the gods’ good fortune we may win this war today. I ask you humbly to pray with me to Lord Cosimo, not for an easy victory, nor for anything we do not deserve. Pray for the miracle of utter devotion to our chosen path, so that we may attract the gods’ aid, like a determined flower calling to the sun from a rocky field.”
Lucia mounted her mare again and listened to the proliferating commands directing the bulk of the Rezzian army to move north and leave their camp exposed to their enemy. She looked about for signs of Danato’s presence but found none. Whether dreaming or awake, she was perfectly confused.
 
~~~~~
 
Ysa rode directly in front of Lucia, anticipating her devotee’s every movement. The goddess kept her cool gaze upon the distant Pawelon army, and willed the sky to fill with darkness.


Chapter Eight: The Wrath of Athena
 
 
THE REZZIANS gave rise to a percussive din: rhythmic crunching of boots, hearts pounding against metal, out-breaths exploding in unison, tens of thousands racing as one, muscling to live another hour beneath the goddess’s baleful sky.
Lucia watched as Duilio ensured the legions advanced in ideal formations. His corps of commanders rode on horseback, giving commands and receiving information, relaying to the Strategos detailed accounts of their movements.
Soon after the council had ended, the legions held their shields and spears close to their bodies, each man turned in place to his right, and they ran north in formation to avoid becoming surrounded by Pawelon’s two armies. Running hard, they advanced further north than Pawelon’s northern troop, which had been slow to respond to their sudden change in direction. That Raf’s cavalry were well ahead suggested their northern flank would remain protected.
Duilio smiled above his caparisoned steed. “Our men are fit. The pigs are slow, physically and mentally. They won’t outmaneuver us today.”
Lucia watched the Pawelon armies falling behind their own. “I hope our men won’t be too exhausted to fight.”
“Oh no, Your Grace. These men yearn to push against impossible odds. They are heroes.”
Swift, grey clouds overshadowed them, flaunting a supernatural origin. Lucia knew that had the legions not been rushing to save their lives, each and every man would have stopped and stood in awe of the waves of lightning streaking across the dark sky.
Confusion still clouded her mind. Was this the obvious stuff of Danato’s dreams, or a harsh reality that looked like a fantasy? She prayed to Ysa to protect them.
 
~~~~~
 
Unseen by men, the goddess Ysa’s beast of a horse walked confidently through the Rezzian ranks, its thin rider demonstrating unshakeable poise. Her pointed nose, tight cheeks, and thin lips—with a silver helm framing her jaw—made her fair-skinned face appear sharp with deadly calm.
Ysa willed her horse to gallop and soon halted in the narrowing space between the two armies. A cool breeze swept through the desert plain. She studied the Pawelon army, her blond hair stirring in a full-bodied mass near the center of her back. She looked to Lucia, far in the distance, and raised a fist inside a bright gauntlet.
 
~~~~~
 
Lucia spotted a searing burst of light near Pawelon’s army. Once it dimmed she focused on the enemy’s changing positions. She yelled to Duilio, “They’re widening their front line.”
The old man looked intently with an air of disbelief, his vision aided by the fingers of lightning glowing above. Pawelon was creating a wide front line from north to south and stretching its northern flank farther back to the west, toward the nearest canyon wall. They were digging in for a fight and trying to keep the Rezzians from encircling them.
Why aren’t they delaying to bring their armies together? Lucia wondered. By stopping and lengthening their formation, they were cutting off Raf’s attempt to outflank them, but they would soon be engaging Rezzia with only half their strength.
“They’re daring us to engage them,” Lucia said.
“They can dig their graves if they want to,” Duilio said as his horse moved about nervously. “Now pray for glory.”
Duilio unsheathed his short sword and raised it as he screamed, “Advance! For Lux Lucis!”
 
~~~~~
 
At the front of the Rezzian line, Atius heard the fierce pounding of drums ordering the onset of the charge. Across the desolate battlefield, distant rows of round enemy shields waited motionlessly. Behind them, Pawelon’s archers hid like cowards.
He set his feet for the charge, pointing at the heart of the enemy.
Gods, grant that I may gut ten pigs before I fall. And take me before you take my brothers.
Atius banged his throwing spear against his shield. His brothers did the same. Their clangor rolled across the desert and rose to the dark heavens.
“March!” he bellowed.
He made long strides into the open field, his men following in ranks beside him. The muscles in his arms clenched with excitement, yearning for the slaughter to come. With his body protected behind his shield, he’d rush past Pawelon’s outstretched spears, ram his own shield against his enemy’s, and surprise the first pig with a stab to the gut. With his brothers at his side, he’d push further into the wall of spears, lashing out with his sword like a snake’s tongue whenever his enemies least expected it.
They drove onward, silent and focused, within range of Pawelon’s bows.
The first volley of Pawelon’s black arrows took flight, soaring up against the backdrop of the red cliff walls.
Atius issued the command, “Tortoise!”
He raised his curved rectangular shield in front of him, covering himself from knees to nose. His brothers along the front and the flanks raised their shields with him, overlapping as a bulwark against the falling arrows. The remaining shields formed a tight ceiling above them. The soldier to his rear rested the forward edge of his shield on Atius’s head, restricting and focusing Atius’s vision forward.
“For Lux Lucis!” he yelled as they marched steadily onward.
The hissing of arrows filled the air. The shield above Atius blocked his view of the arrows above him, but across the field more volleys were loosed.
Atius’s heart jumped. Arrows cracked against the shield over his head and at his front.
“My shield!” one of his men shouted.
A sudden pain ripped through Atius’s leg. He screamed, agony arresting his mind and vision.
An arrow stuck out from his calf. His broken greave fell to the ground.
He drove on in agony, unable to do anything but march alongside his brothers. He yearned to grab at his wound, but his mind held strong and he refused to lower his shield.
The shafts rained in front of them as a black blur. Some lodged into the earth, some skidded along the ground, others shattered upon impact.
His gritted his teeth and thrust his wounded leg forward, forcing it to move.
More arrows crashed, like a swift explosion of hail on a rooftop. His men screamed in horror.
How is this happening? On other occasions, he’d seen the volleys loosed by ten thousand Pawelon archers. Now ten times more arrows were falling. The ground became a sea of black wooden shafts.
Their sages …
He saw his wife before his eyes, her long, thick hair and full lips above soft breasts and shoulders. She’d wear black for him when he died, and pray to Lord Danato to guard his soul.
“Aaargh!”
A second arrow pierced his wounded leg. He reached down reflexively, lowering his shield and leaning forward for just a moment.
An arrow whizzed past his ear and the soldier behind him screamed and crumpled. The soldier behind the fallen one tripped and fell forward, knocking against Atius’s legs as the man’s shield rattled against the ground.
Atius turned to look at the fallen warriors. An arrow ripped into his left shoulder. An uncontrollable scream escaped his lungs.
In horrific pain, he tossed his spear as far forward as his muscles allowed. He tried to raise his shield to protect himself, but his arm refused, trembling.
More screams.
More arrows falling around them.
He stumbled and collapsed, choking as blood filled his mouth.
A final pain shot through his heart.
 
~~~~~
 
Frowning creases appeared on Duilio’s dry face as his mouth pursed closed. “It's some sort of trick by their sages. They’ve multiplied their arrows.”
Lucia watched the chaos around her, faintly hearing terrible screams in the distance. Would this prove to be a nightmare, or her end? She knew if she died today, her father and brother would bring such a fury against Pawelon that nothing would remain of their fortress and army.
As she contemplated the worst, a distant whining turned into a terrifying howl. A fiery light burned its way across the sky, from the west above the Pawelon citadel and all their distant lands. The object arced its way downward, flying toward her and the Strategos.
“Think of Lord Cosimo now, Your Grace.” Duilio spurred his horse toward the conflict. Lucia followed.
“We are too late now. Stop!” She caught up with Duilio as he halted and looked to her.
“I believe in you, Lucia. Do what you can.”
Lightning exploded and etched its way across the sky like a drunken spider’s web. It disappeared in an instant. As the sky grew dark again, the incandescent object plummeted at an ungodly speed.
Lucia prayed to Ysa and thrust her shield over their heads as if trying to block a hurricane with a hat. A long fork of lightning lit the sky.
A wave of force emanated from the shield. The celestial object exploded well above Lucia, blasting shards of smoldering rock all about and knocking every man within a hundred paces to the ground.
Duilio’s horse reared up as the blast drove it backward, and the old Strategos fell hard. Lucia’s mare went straight down with its legs bent. The earth rippled and split as crevasses erupted across the desert floor.
She threw an arm around Albina’s neck and rolled onto to the ground once the rumbling calmed, many breaths later. Soldiers slowly came to their feet, grimacing and holding their wounds.
Lucia and many more rushed to Duilio’s aid. The Strategos lay on his back mumbling. He tried to stand but fell sideways.
She knelt beside him and touched her black-gloved hand to his forehead. “Cosimo and Ysa saved us, Strategos.” She could barely hear herself speaking; her ears were nearly deaf from the explosion. More aftershocks jostled them and for a moment she lost her balance.
Duilio smiled. The right side of his head was a mass of blood. “Lucia, go. We need your goddess.”
She kissed Duilio’s forehead. “Keep thinking of Lord Cosimo.”
She left the soldiers and warpriests to tend to the Strategos and mounted Albina again. Arrows continued knifing her soldiers. Pawelon’s front line held strong. Though the enemy forces were greatly outnumbered, because of their trickery they were on the verge of routing her army.
Ysa, I beg you, protect us now, before we all perish. I want to see my brother again. And if this is a dream, let me know now. She drew the sword from its scabbard and held it at her mare’s right side. She pulled her shield closer to her body, squeezing the leather-covered metal grip. Ysa, please …
Every warrior in the valley cowered as the goddess’s thunder detonated and assaulted their ears. The boom rolled around them, like a coiling sonic snake. It tumbled, turned in all directions, rose and fell wildly.
Yet to Lucia’s traumatized ears, the thunder sounded muffled. She turned her head sideways and observed her kingdom’s frightened warriors.
Go to them, she heard an inner voice, a firm-sounding woman. Then give yourself to me.
She yelled and spurred Albina into motion, then headed toward the violence at what felt like an impossible speed. Many soldiers and warpriests tried to keep up with her, but their horses fell behind. Her vision went blurry, head throbbing and dizzy.
Without warning, her mare stopped and Lucia pitched onto the compacted ground, her shoulders and head scraping along the desert floor. As she lay recovering for a moment, a burst of intuition told her Ysa’s armor and helm had prevented serious injuries. She willed herself to stand without knowing where she was and raised Ysa’s sword and shield in self-defense.
The sword vibrated powerfully enough to nearly make her arm numb.
Nearby, a band of Pawelons marched forward, using their spears to drive a group of Rezzian soldiers back. The Pawelons’ uniforms were dark blue, their skin deep shades of brown. She hadn’t intended to come this close to the fighting. A tall Pawelon surged forward and thrust his spear through a Rezzian’s shield, into his chest.
The rangy Pawelon spotted her. His snarl deepened as he raced toward her.
With gusty winds eddying around them, she raised her shield arm barely in time to deflect the spear. As the soldier’s momentum carried him off balance, she stabbed the blade across her body and into his chest.
They both screamed, and the Pawelon fell and grabbed her legs. She jumped backward and watched the man clutch his wound. The blade still sent tremors through her body.
She looked down. The white metal dripped with his blood.
She had no time to grasp what she had done before the clouds literally fell down like a sagging belly over Pawelon’s forces. The midday shadows were like night, and the temperature plummeted to freezing. Gusting winds swept waves of hail toward the Pawelon troops, overtaking their arrows for command of the air.
She heard the woman’s voice again in her ear: Surrender to the ancient implements. Control the storm.
Some buried instinct took over. Her muscles softened and her heart warmed. Every hair on her body stood straight up as an awesome power coursed through her. She began to feel the storm so profoundly that the boundary between her spirit and the sky dissolved. Was she directing the weather, or was it directing her?
She felt the tempest responding to her, and the more she allowed herself to welcome it, the more aggressively it pounded the Pawelon forces with deluges of ice. Her instincts led her inward to even greater exultation. As she went deeper all capacity for rational thought disappeared.
A column of lightning erupted. It streaked down and startled her with its thickness, as it pulsed and rolled all around Pawelon’s forces. Moving by sheer instinct, Lucia squeezed Ysa's sword and her body tingled with divine power from head to toe. She felt flushed with heat, feeling the storm ravaging the Pawelon men with savage power.
Another column of electricity came down. Another. And another.
And then, without warning, the sensations subsided. The lightning columns shrank and then disappeared. Her mind returned to a normal state of awareness, and her profound connection with the natural elements dried up. The clouds turned from black to grey, then chestnut to white, rising into the heavens. She felt a sense of loss, of abandonment, as the sky no longer embraced her.
Looking down at the blood coating Ysa’s white blade, she remembered what she had done.
Lucia sensed an evil presence, and nausea overcame her.


Chapter Nine: A Burial Truce Offering
 
 
THE CLOUDS SWIRLED FASTER above Pawelon’s forces and turned pitch-black. A vicious, freezing wind blew down. The deafening thunder drubbed Rao’s ears and seized his heart. He cowered as the boom froze his mind.
The storm goddess’s rage weakened his muscles, his concentration, his resolve. Did Briraji kill the royal daughter?
It doesn’t matter.
With those words, Rao withdrew his attention from his body and physical senses, resting for a moment in the spacious emptiness underlying existence.
He returned his awareness to his body: muscles relaxing, blood flowing, breath arising and falling.
He adopted a wide, solid stance and detached again from his thoughts, body, and senses. A single point of light appeared in the black emptiness and it became the focus of his meditation. His attention remained on the tiny light for seven long breaths, until the light expanded and washed over him, giving him glimpses of nonmaterial realities intersecting his world.
Focus on the battlefield.
The chaotic flood of information fell away from his awareness, like light retreating into a tunnel. His physical being transformed into a lighter, subtler body, and he saw the battlefield anew.
The stormy sky appeared as a complex mass of blinding light and shadow, unified as a single field by some greater intelligence. The sky breathed with wild contractions, moving lower to the ground, until it hovered just above Pawelon’s troops.
Rao steeled himself with conviction: You will not engulf my people.
He pushed his awareness into the body of a random Pawelon soldier to witness his experience, finding panic amid the darkness, bitter cold, and biting hail. A moment later, a pillar of electrical force ripped through the man, slamming him like a thousand bricks.
Rao drew his consciousness away and observed the scene. More columns of lightning arose between the ground and sky, moving around like puppets under strings. The deadly clouds sank lower and the Rezzians began racing toward the Pawelons and throwing their spears. If they kept coming, close combat would favor the invaders.
He meditated: How can I stop their goddess?
He noticed then, despite all the dazzling flashes of light, the glowing of a single human soul where the two armies were colliding. The subtle bodies of most men appeared a dull red, but here was a gigantic, swirling field of yellow and white surrounding an intense red and black pulse. Trails of light stretched up from this being to the sky.
The royal daughter is alive!
Each vibrant line between her and the sky was a gossamer trace of psychic influence. Rao poured his awareness into one of the trails of light.
Such a glorious sensation! Expanding light and power, ecstacy and interconnection.
He tried to focus his attention, to sever this connection between the royal daughter and the storm. The light swung around wildly, battling his will, shocking his mind. He recognized the royal daughter’s talent for defense and control.
Rao settled deeper within himself, calling on deep reservoirs of spiritual energy, and visualized the stream of psychic energy vanishing to nothing.
It exploded outward with an electrical burst and scattered his consciousness with it. An unknown length of time passed before his awareness coalesced again on the ground near the royal daughter. Her unique aura revealed a strange blend of spiritual light, potent aggression, and fear.
Rao focused his attention to stop her before she could conjure another miracle. He could attack her subtle body directly, leaving her spirit fragmented. Or, he could take a very different approach, one full of risk and hope.
Rao studied the shimmering light and pulsing darkness around her aura. He decided to address the light. He sent toward her a great thought form, an idea that would go deeply into her subconscious mind.
Peace …
He watched her aura ripple.
Her consciousness became still, then inactive like someone beginning to sleep.
A flash of light washed over him.
Rao opened his eyes to a blue sky, lying on his back on an empty patch of land not far from General Indrajit.
My spiritual energy is gone.
Indrajit was in the midst of an intense discussion with Briraji and four other high-ranking sages. Rao formulated his argument, stood, and ran toward them.
He tried to appear full of breath and vitality as he approached them. “General Indrajit, Briraji, I’ve stopped the royal daughter from connecting with the elements. She controlled the storm. Her power could return, and I may not be able to stop her next time. We should leave now, before she acts again.”
Briraji only scowled, while Indrajit’s gaze seemed to be searching Rao’s soul. Indrajit turned to Briraji, but the sage had no words.
What other choice do you have now, general?
The general yelled to his messengers, “Call for our full retreat.”
His instructions commanded the archers and sages to work together to create enough arrow fire to deter the Rezzians from following them. Pawelon could not engage Rezzia’s forces directly without risking being overrun, nor could they afford to wait for the rest of their forces with the desperate Rezzian army so close by and the royal daughter still among them.
The Rezzians apparently did not wish to see the multiplying of Pawelon’s arrows again. They stood their ground and yelled insults as the Pawelons backed away and retreated toward their citadel.
And so the armies returned, Rezzia to their camp and Pawelon to their fortress, dragging their dead and supporting their wounded.


Chapter Ten: The Unseen One in Prophecy
 
 
Lucia dreamed …
 
CAIO SLIPPED OUT OF BED after midnight wearing a plain white robe. He quietly removed Lucia’s letter from under his pillow and exited the yurt, relieved that Ilario remained asleep. Outside, he covered his mouth to ask the guards to remain quiet. As Caio walked away, ten soldiers silently followed.
He turned away from the winding road packed with sleeping reinforcements and walked into the desert, heading for a distant hill. The night was bathed in soft moonlight, smelling of sage, filled with the chirping of insects. The soldiers followed at a respectful distance.
Caio asked them to remain at the base of the slope and began to climb. Lucia’s curling parchment crinkled as he pressed it into his palm. After reaching the peak, he gathered ten large stones and set them in a circle as an altar to the gods of Lux Lucis.
He prayed out with passion, “Lord Oderigo, God of Prophecy,” and then placed the letter at the heart of the makeshift shrine. “I seek your light and beg you for rays of truth. Why does Lord Danato stalk my sister in the quiet of night?” Caio prostrated, lowering the crown of his skull to the earth.
Many heartbeats passed as no response came …
Rocks stirred in the distance.
Heavy footsteps walked toward him.
A loud pop shattered the quiet—the sudden closing of a heavy book.
The figure approached, kicking dusty stones at Caio.
“Look to your Lord.”
Caio lifted his head to see majestic Lord Oderigo covered in vines and lowering the heavy Book of Time to him. The god’s luminous skin smelled of holy myrrha, so much that it transported Caio to boyhood memories of ecstatic worship at the Reveria. Oderigo’s eyes were vacant black portals stretching into the future and past, into all that had been and all that would come to be.
“Stand and read.”
The Book of Time rested on Oderigo’s enormous hands, its pages edged with gold. Caio bowed his head, held out two fingers on each hand to thank his lord, and opened The Book. He read accounts of Lucia’s long suffering, of the fervent interest The Black One held for her since the death of their mother. Caio grimaced as he read on under the radiant light of the moon, all the way through to a prophecy of the present day:
And so a choice lay before the daughter and son of King Vieri. Lord Danato’s terrible vision was certain: the war with Pawelon would not end for another ten years. That is, unless the pair journeyed to Lord Danato’s fabled underworld, that harrowed place which confronts men with their shadows and promises tragedy in compensation for His mercy.
Caio closed the book, looked down, and shut his eyes.
The wind howled a deep, echoing tone.
He looked up and found Oderigo gone. Lord Danato towered over Caio, his black skin reflecting the bright moonlight.
Caio fell to his knees and spread his arms forward in prostration to The Black One.
Lord Danato picked up Caio with both hands, his pointed nails cutting into the Haizzem’s chest.
He wrapped his pitch-black fingers around Caio’s neck and squeezed so tightly Caio’s choking failed to produce a sound.
Caio’s eyes trembled with sorrow as they closed. Danato released his corpse onto the stony altar.
 
~~~~~
 
Peace to you … Caio prayed for Lucia and looked down on her distressed, sleeping face.
Lucia woke with a gasp.
Caio sat in a chair beside her bed, his heart overflowing with love for her. He had lit the candles on her dresser after he entered her yurt. Shadows danced around the room.
I was so afraid I’d never see you again, he thought.
“Caio!” She left her mouth open and blinked repeatedly, as if she thought her eyes were deceiving her. Only her face peeked out from beneath the cream wool blanket.
“I had to see you as soon as I arrived. We were too close to stop again overnight.”
“Is it really you?”
He leaned down to hug her through the blanket, and she squeezed his chest so hard he stopped breathing.
“Are you well?” she asked. Lucia let go and let Caio sit up again.
“Yes. I am only tired. I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you.”
She frowned, seeming at a loss for words.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’ve never been able to know what you are feeling—I don’t know why. I wish you had told me before now.”
“You didn’t need to know. Did you consult with Lord Oderigo?”
“Yes. I couldn’t sleep after I got your letter. I went out alone into the desert, and he came to me—”
“Lord Oderigo did? What did he say?”
“He showed me The Book of Time. I saw many things. And,” Caio considered his words carefully, “he showed me that Danato’s message is indeed very serious. But there may still be another way.”
“What did you see? What other option do we have?”
Caio had already decided not to tell her what he read about visiting Lord Danato’s underworld. Scripture promised that such a journey might cause more problems than it would solve. “It is up to us to find another way.”
“Caio, I dreamt about all of this. Just now, just before I woke up. I was there. I saw you.” Lucia’s brow tightened with concern. “At first I saw Lord Oderigo with you, but then, after you read from The Book, in my dream Lord Danato himself stood over you.”
“No, it was only Lord Oderigo.”
“And I read … did you read what Danato has done to me?”
Caio hadn’t planned on letting her know. “Yes.” He wondered if in the dream she read the same thing he did about visiting Danato’s underworld, but he wasn’t going to bring it up. They stared at each other in silence. Caio felt too afraid to say any more about what was written in The Book.
“Ilario is outside. If you want to see him—”
Her eyes sparkled. “He’s right out there? I just need a little time to get dressed.”
“Of course. We both want to hear about what you’ve been through.”
“I’m sure that would do me some good.”
Caio leaned down and kissed her cheek. She smelled of jasmine and perspiration.
“I couldn’t have waited another day for you,” she said. “I’ve thought up a plan.”


Chapter Eleven: The Lovers’ Respite
 
 
ILARIO WAS CHATTING with Lucia’s guards, recounting the glorious Dux Spiritus ceremony, when Caio exited the yurt. The soldiers dropped to their knees and prostrated again. Caio thanked them for their service and walked among them, touching the backs of their heads to bless them.
As Ilario hunted for movement in the darkness, with his ears keen to every rustling noise, anxiety still vexed him. “Is she … ?”
“She’s all right. She wants to see you. She’s getting dressed.”
Ilario nodded and tried not to look too eager to see the most arresting woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Over the years, he’d hid from his feelings for her with countless pretty faces and fleshy bodies that meant nothing to him. All the while, Lucia rejected every suitor who proposed to her. If she was actually waiting for him, she wouldn’t be able to wait much longer.
Lucia opened the doors of her yurt, rivaling the beauty of the moonlight. She wore a flowing, long-sleeved brown dress. The fabric clung tightly around her hips and ruffled near her shoulders and feet. Her breasts were fully covered, but prominent enough. “It’s good to see you, Ilario. Come in.” She touched his shoulder with one of her gloved hands and met his gaze with her guarded eyes.
Already you give me more than I deserve, he thought.
Candles glowed atop a dresser and from two tables on opposite sides of her bed. Against the fabric wall to the left, the armor and sword of Ysa glinted in the wavering light. Ilario bowed his head to pay respect to the goddess’s relics. Amber resin incense burned and smoked atop an antique chest.
Lucia sat at the edge of her cream bed, facing the doors, and Caio and Ilario sat down in wooden chairs before her.
“Are you all right?” Ilario asked.
Lucia glanced down and narrowed her eyes, blinking.
Caio rested his elbows on his thighs and leaned forward. “Dear sister, you are safe now. The messengers told us the goddess Ysa saved you?”
Lucia looked away and wiped a tear from her cheek. “Yes, Ysa saved me.”
“They only told us you were found unconscious,” Ilario said.
Lucia seized him with her obsidian eyes. “After we survived the object from the heavens— truly a miracle—Ysa channeled a great storm through me, through her implements, and then …” She stopped and struggled to swallow. “I felt a great evil around me. Dark Pawelon magic. I felt a presence. I am certain someone was there, close to me. I thought I was going to die. That’s the last thing I remember.”
Ilario jumped to his feet and pounded the floor as he paced the side of the room opposite Ysa’s ancient metal. “We are going to find whoever did this to you.” He finished each thought with a swing of his fist. “We are going to find him. And I am going to bloody kill him. I swear to you, I am going to kill the pig that did this to you.”
“I wouldn’t mind that,” she said, “but I need to tell you, I’ve had a change of heart about the war. I never liked the idea of it, but after seeing its worst, Ilario, we’ve got to end it.”
Ilario stopped his pacing and stared at her. First Caio, now you?
“I agree,” Caio said. He knelt on one knee at Lucia’s feet. “We almost lost you. We’ve lost so many. Palla and Nese are gone forever. How many more?”
“I’m not really important here,” Ilario began, “but isn’t it your duty to win the war? We could put an end to all this at any time by fleeing, but then Pawelon would actually win. And all this effort, all these lives, would be for nothing.”
“Ilario is right.” Lucia’s steady voice put Ilario’s mind at ease. “Our people have sacrificed too much for this to end without our victory. My hope is that we can force Pawelon to surrender. I have a proposal, if I may, Dux Spiritus.”
“Of course, Lucia. I always trust your counsel.”
“I believe if you can deal a quick, decisive blow, we may be able to shock them into surrender. They’re desperate. They’re clearly afraid of you. If you can overwhelm them in your first engagement, we could send a shocking message.”
“We haven’t engaged them since you were hurt?” Caio asked.
“No. Duilio and I decided to wait for you. Since the battle, they’ve remained close to their fortress. We don’t really know if their tactics will be different when we next face them, so we may have the chance to meet another sizable force. Caio, if you pray to Mya and I to Ysa, we can ask that our advance be concealed with a great rain until we come upon them. If our goddesses are with us, they’ll grant our request.”
Lucia sat on the floor and used her fingers to paint a crude map, illustrating the situation. “They have two sentry outposts in the valley, one to the north and one to the south. If we could overrun one of them without being noticed and then conceal our advance, their defenses would have no warning. We could go out together, with just a small number of warpriests, and use our prayers to overcome these sentries.”
If Ilario didn’t already respect Lucia’s competence, he would have thought her idea reckless and mad.
She leaned back against her bed and continued to hold their attention. “I’ve already discussed this with Duilio. He would go out as a distraction to the southern sentry. With luck, they might divert too many of their forces toward him. Behind us, in the north, our strongest units can march behind whatever weather we can conjure and surprise their forces on the northern trail, allowing us to march straight to their citadel.”
“About these sentry outposts, what would we be up against?” Ilario asked.
“The garrisons are in remarkable defensive positions. They sit atop two of the highest peaks inside the canyon, stocked with archers and sages. Duilio tells me we have overtaken the outposts before, but always at a great loss of life, losing many thousands in exchange for the few hundred men they station there. They’ve taken them back from us each time, somehow much more easily. Because of this, for years now we’ve left the outposts alone. It’s not as if we keep great secrets from them. But in this case, if our goddesses conceal our advance, surprising their main defenses could be a great advantage. It would add to their fear of our Haizzem.” Her eyes narrowed as she finished.
“And you feel that if we achieve a great victory—” Caio started to say.
“Yes, I think they might realize what they’re up against. If you can punish them soundly and impress them with your power, perhaps they would be willing to discuss terms for surrender.”
“Your father won’t accept their surrender,” Ilario said. “He’ll want to destroy them completely.”
“Ilario, you’re right. But this is your army now, Caio. You can decide our strategy. If you want this war to end without a great slaughter, we have to try something different. But if Father questions you, you’ll have to stand firm.”
“He’s got so much invested in this war.” Caio walked over to the smoking incense and took in a deep breath. “But I can’t allow tens of thousands more to die. If I can stop this fighting, I must. How can I let so much blood be spilled under my command?”
“You don’t have to, Caio,” Lucia said, still leaning against her bed. “You command our forces now. You must accept and embrace your role, because you will have to live with the consequences, as will many others.”
Now this is a surprise, Ilario thought. After all that Lucia had been through, to hope for mere surrender? What about the men who gave up their peaceful lives for the chance to defeat Pawelon completely and gloriously? Casting them aside and allowing diplomats to deal the final blow would be an insult to their honor. But I’ve already said too much.
“I agree with you. If we can enact your strategy, we will,” Caio said.
“We should act before they even realize you are here,” she said. “It’s good you’ve come early. It might give us another surprising element if we can leave in the morning.”
“Very well. We will need to get some sleep then,” Caio said. “I’m going to step outside for some air, Ilario. The guards there are protection enough. I’ll let you get caught up.”
“My Haizzem, I cannot leave your side.”
“But you aren’t leaving me. I’ll be right outside, with ten of Rezzia’s most capable men. They protect my sister. I’m sure they can watch over me.”
Lucia watched them silently.
“Just for a little while then,” Ilario said.
Caio embraced his sister before he left. Lucia sat at the edge of her bed. Ilario stopped pacing and returned to his chair.
Ilario told himself, Don’t ruin this. Don’t offend her. Just be yourself. “It’s really good to see you again.”
“I’ve prayed every day that you and Caio would arrive early. My prayers were answered. How is he doing?” Lucia sounded just as awkwardly formal as he did.
“He really struggles with the concept of warfare. He’s still accepting his role.”
“If we succeed tomorrow, he may not have to fight again.”
Until the next war. “Let’s hope so.” Come on, this is your chance. “I really … I can’t wait to hear about all you’ve been doing. Everywhere you’ve been. And, what you’ve done here.”
“Ilario, I feel like I’ve been tasked with one thankless burden after another, year after year.” Lucia stared at the fragrant smoke and let out a deep breath. “I’m tired of the traveling,” she paused again, “and I’ve seen enough death and gore now to last me the rest of my life.” She turned her attention back to Ilario with a sober look. “I don’t have any more time to waste. I feel like I’m still looking for something greater.”
“And you deserve that. You … deserve the very best.” Why does everything coming out of my mouth sound stiff? “What else are you looking for?”
Lucia stared at him even more intently, yielding the next move.
“You probably want to marry,” Ilario said. “I know your father’s pressured you.”
“I’ve had offers. The problem is that I would like to be happy, above all else. I haven’t found that anywhere.”
“I think you will find it. I’m sure you will. And you will make one lucky man very, very happy.”
Lucia looked away and ran her fingers along her face.
“The journey from Remeas—” Ilario began to say.
“What do you want for yourself, Ilario? You’ve had romances with a good number of ladies, haven’t you? Maybe you’re not cut out to be with just one woman.”
Gods, this is my chance.
“No, I think I am—I know I am. I would like to be with just one woman. She would have to be very special. But it seems my duty doesn’t really allow me the time.”
Lucia looked away again, not quite hiding her disappointment.
“But maybe,” he said.
“Why maybe?”
“I’m not sure. If the right woman came along. I don’t know. It doesn’t really make sense.”
Lucia stared at him with a sharp, tender look in her eyes. A smile tugged at one corner of her mouth.
“I’ve been thinking about you a lot, actually,” he said. Her smile widened, but she obviously wasn’t going to make this any easier for him. Ilario cleared his throat. “I really enjoyed being with you the last time we saw each other. I felt like I was finally beginning to know you.”
She cupped one side of her face, from chin to ear, and waited for more.
You want me to say it. All right.
“I absolutely loved that time with you, Lucia. I would say I care for you, but that wouldn’t be proper for me to talk about, would it?”
“Why not?”
“Who am I to think about you? I’m the furthest thing from royal stock—I’m not even a native Rezzian. And your father employs me. I’ve thought about this more than you’ll ever know, but I’m already lucky to be so close to your family.”
“You’re where you are because my father admires you. He knows your heart is good. My life is mine to live. Whatever I decide, my father will need to accept it. And he likes you.”
Ilario lowered his shoulders along with his glance. “I respect your father. He’s given me so much. I could never do something to upset him. You couldn’t be with me, anyway.”
“I can do whatever I want.” She patted the bed. “Come sit by me.”
Ilario’s heart raced with excitement. All right. If that’s how you feel about it … I won’t be afraid either. Who knows? Maybe your father would approve. He already trusts me with his son’s life.
He sat next to her and stared at her soft skin and proud face. Lucia looked as receptive to him as he’d ever seen, though her eyes were fearless. Ilario could barely breathe. No man could be worthy of you. But if you give me the chance, I would try.
He leaned forward and kissed her. She met him without hesitation. Her lips were soft and confident; his lips tingled against her flesh. She responded to his forceful movements, answering with even greater passion.
Ilario felt whole, reunited with some part of himself Lucia seemed to possess. He pulled her closer.
She pulled away and squeezed his knee, looking deeply into his eyes.
I want nothing more than to know the depths of your heart, Lucia.
“We’d just have to start somewhere and then find out where things go,” she said.
“That’s what I want. We need to defeat Pawelon and get out of this valley. Get back to Remaes, discuss this with your father, and,” he tried to win her over with his wide smile, “keep both you and Caio in the holy city.”
After Lucia stood up, Ilario followed her lead. She embraced him, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist. “I’m very sorry,” she said. “We don’t have time now. We need to rest and wake early.”
Right. If I can even get to sleep after this.
“Pray that all goes well tomorrow,” she said.
“I will pray to Lord Sansone for a swift victory. Lucia, I want to know you. I want to know things about you that no one else has ever known.”
She kissed him again, with her sweet tongue exploring his mouth. He wrapped her up and pressed her full chest against his. Feeling her feminine strength against his body filled him with yearning. It’s been so long. She pushed him back with one hand, flashing her seductive smile.
“Until the morning, beloved of Sansone. Help Caio. Give him confidence.”
“I will.” Ilario glanced at Ysa’s armor with an enormous grin. “I can’t wait to see you wearing all of that.”
She only winked and pushed him toward the doors.
This is really happening.
The doors shut behind him, and Ilario rejoined Caio. The young Haizzem had all of the guards laughing about something, but he turned right away and gleamed at Ilario with the purest acceptance.
I love her, Caio.


Chapter Twelve: The Earth Shaker and His Sea
 
 
AFTER A BRIEF AND RESTLESS SLEEP, Caio journeyed out from the camp along with Lucia, Ilario, and ten warpriests selected by his father. The king declared the ten to be the most perfect spiritual warriors in the Rezzian army and gave them the task of protecting his children, no matter the cost.
It hadn’t been easy for Caio to convince his father that he and Lucia should go out on such a dangerous mission, but appeals to faith and the appeal of Lucia’s strategy won the king over. Lucia reminded their father that Caio, as Dux Spiritus, had the right to pursue any tactics he chose, and that his son’s will was divine. Caio didn’t want to force his father to do anything.
Caio sensed that his father couldn’t pass up the chance to have his Haizzem clear the way for his army; it was too great a tactical opportunity, and he was excited to see what his son could do. Vieri consented only after making them promise that if they encountered trouble, they would flee and let the warpriests sacrifice themselves to protect them.
Duilio agreed to do his part as well, to lead a significant diversion to the south. He also shared some news: “We have received an incredible report from our spies. The rajah’s son, Rao, joined the conflict on the same day as their bold attack. We assume he had something to do with their more aggressive tactics. I am told that the tales of his powers are already becoming legendary among their soldiers. In fact, they say it was he alone who stopped the goddess Ysa’s rage.”
Lucia reminded them that an evil force had violated her with some overpowering magic. Her father and Ilario agreed that Pawelon’s prince would be their target if they could find him on the battlefield. With Rao dead, they would have an even greater chance to intimidate their enemy into surrender.
The king gave the expected response, an unequivocal desire for a total victory that would allow them to bring significant changes to Pawelon politically and spiritually. Lucia changed the subject to the planning of the day’s attack, postponing the debate over the merits of surrender.
Duilio suggested that Lucia should accompany him while Caio attacks the northern sentry outpost, so that both missions would have the greatest chance of success. Lucia insisted on staying with her brother. Caio trusted her plan, privately feeling more secure having Lucia beside him. Duilio graciously agreed to his Dux Spiritus’ wishes, and so they went.
The team made their way north along the eastern edge of the canyon and then west into the desert valley, staying as close as possible to sparse patches of vegetation to cover their approach. Once within range of the sentry outpost, they rushed into the cover of a thicket of bushes. The branches were razor-sharp, curling around in wild circles like an assassin spinning with curved swords.
Caio, Ilario, and Lucia huddled by the largest bush, panting. The warpriests hid behind other shrubs, watching Caio with deadly focus. The scarves protecting their bald heads from the climbing sun fluttered in the breeze.
Everyone else looks so ready for this, Caio thought.
He whispered, “I hadn't realized the mornings would be so cold.” Caio didn’t have whatever benefits of warmth came from the padding of armor, unlike Lucia. The goddess Mya and Lord Oderigo hadn’t left behind sacred battle relics as Ysa had for her royal devotees. Caio’s armor was spiritual. Oderigo entrusted the royal lineage with his sacred text, The Book of Time. The goddess Mya handed down to the royalty a wooden rod shaped from the first olive tree the gods gave the kingdom many centuries ago. Caio squeezed the solid, grainy wood of the healing scepter in one hand and felt its majestic aura.
This power was given to me so that I could heal. This is madness.
“I think this land hates us,” Lucia whispered back, her sharp eyes remaining focused past the edges of the bush, up the hill. “Later, you’ll be glad you dressed for the heat.”
Caio squeezed one of his arms, feeling the loose sleeve of his unbleached cotton thawb, a long tunic running down to his sandaled feet. He thrust his head back and let the matching head scarf settle behind his shoulders.
“This is as close as we’ll get,” Lucia said.
“I pray none of them have to die,” Caio said to himself as much as to the others.
Ilario had said little since they set out, keeping to himself most of the hike. Caio sensed his friend’s fears about their mission and his conflicted feelings for Lucia. Ilario’s eyes focused on the Pawelon outpost and the steep climb leading up to it.
“You were right,” Ilario said to Lucia. “There's no practical way to assault them. Their archers would have perfect positioning while we climb the hill, and they must have sages ready with a complete strategy for defense.” He turned and patted Caio on the back, making brief eye contact. “Remember, you hold the goddess Mya’s rod in your hand. Everything is possible for you, my Haizzem.”
Lucia’s gaze pried into Caio’s soul, making sure her message was received. “Prevent them from seeing our forces behind us, and prevent them from alerting their army. You can do this.”
Caio looked down on the intricate red and black lines the gods had painted on his palms while he was still in his mother’s womb. As with all the other Haizzem before him, the patterns started at the center of his palms, wrapped around his hands, and wound along his forearms to his elbow. Gazing at the thorny lines centered his mind.
He gripped Mya’s smooth rod with both hands and exhaled warmth onto his cold fingers. “Will our gods need to kill anyone to accomplish this goal? We only need to distract the Pawelons.”
“I am sure The Ten will obey you,” Lucia said, “though you know they aren't always compassionate.”
“We will see a great miracle today,” Ilario added. “Clear the way, my Haizzem, and let the gods decide the details.”
Caio noticed that Ilario momentarily looked away from the hill, to Lucia's face. Earlier that morning, Caio had seen his sister relax and smile much more deeply than usual around Ilario. “I wonder what we’ll be doing when we marry and grow old together,” Caio said.
Lucia’s and Ilario's eyes met for a moment before she said, “Caio, you should focus.”
Caio stood up, still using the bush for some cover. “If anything should ever happen to me, know how much I love you both, and that nothing would make me happier than to see you together someday.”
He knew they’d be uncomfortable hearing his words, so he gave them no time to respond. Caio ran into the open, up the long hill. If not for his trust in the gods, the empty distance would have been terrifying. He looked back, upset at seeing Lucia and Ilario chasing after him. The ten warpriests spread out to protect them, their flowing, white clothes snapping like flags in a strong wind.
The goddess Mya appeared three paces in front of Caio, wearing a lush green dress of leaves. Her enigmatic eyes quivered with a hint of moisture. She held up the palm of her delicate hand.
Caio remained upright but dropped to his knees. He heard the others stop and felt their eyes on him. He extended his open arms before his goddess, her rod clenched in one hand, a plea upon his face. If you will help us, Mya, what will you do to our enemies?
He felt a sudden shiver of heat.
Must we kill them? Is that what I should ask for, and would you even grant such a thing?
No response came from The Goddess of the Great Waters. His heart was pulled deeper into her mesmerizing gaze.
How can I go against my own marrow?
Silence.
I am your chosen Haizzem, why can I not instead bring peace to this land?
Emptiness.
Do my wishes even matter? Can all this momentum toward bloodshed even be stopped?
Mya stepped toward him and caressed his face from cheek to chin. It felt refreshing all the way down to his toes, like cool water on scorched earth.
We only need the Pawelons incapacitated, so they cannot alert their army. I don’t want you to kill them.
Mya faded from sight like mist warmed by fire.
The Pawelons stirred on the hill above. Caio knew he might have only seconds before their arrows or magic reached him and his friends.
Caio stood taller than he’d ever stood before, raised his arms, and closed his eyes. He squeezed the rod in his right hand and expelled his goddess's power toward the Pawelons. A booming, wet, sucking sound startled him, forcing him to open his eyes and witness Mya’s miracle.
 
~~~~~
 
Lucia watched Caio raise the rod, then heard Ysa’s sword and shield humming a barely perceptible tone.
Ysa, empower his prayers!
And then Caio was gone.
The Pawelon base became the epicenter of an impossible phenomenon. Countless water droplets appeared out of the dry air and flew toward the enemy forces as if in slow motion—yet the water covered the Pawelons in a matter of seconds.
Lucia felt her head spinning as she gazed at the divine handiwork. Something like a small sun covered the Pawelon fort, but instead of a fiery ball, the sphere was composed of deep blue water like the stormy Rezz Ocean. Its circumference chopped violently.
Muffled screams escaped the watery prison like a haunted chorus, emphatic but indistinct.
A sudden pain seized Lucia’s heart. She raced toward the hill drawing her sword. “Caio!” Damn you, father, you should have known he wasn’t ready for this! She held up her shield to block any incoming arrows or magic, leaving it up to her goddess whether she’d live or die.
The yelling behind her revealed that Ilario was close by and the warpriests trailed him. The sounds of her heavy exhalations and clanking armor almost drowned out the wails of the trapped Pawelons.
Strangely, her legs moved more easily as the climb grew steeper.
It’s like I’m running downhill.
She felt a tangible force pulling her body upward toward the liquid sun, even with half the distance still to go.
From behind, Ilario screamed her name.


Chapter Thirteen: Astrapios and Brontios
 
 
CAIO FOUND HIMSELF SUSPENDED ABOVE the Pawelon outpost, hovering in the air. Countless hostile faces screamed at him from below. He yelled back in their language, “I didn’t come to hurt you!”
WHY, Mya?
The water droplets seemed to float toward him so slowly in that moment—so quickly in truth—accumulating rapidly, sticking to him, pooling around him, until he was submerged in the cool water, along with all the Pawelon soldiers. Water-soaked rays of sunlight cascaded around the edges, giving Caio hope that he might swim free. His legs kicked and his arms dug through the water—but his body stayed anchored in place.
I’m at its center.
I’m trapped.
Angry voices dribbled into his ears along with the rush of sloshing water. His already cool skin felt colder. Most of the Pawelons struggled to escape; some of them floundered, as if they didn’t know how to swim. None of them got away. Caio realized that whatever force kept him in the center of the sea also trapped the Pawelons inside.
Two swam toward him with spears in hand and rage burning on their faces. Caio felt the spirit of the leading Pawelon, a veteran determined to see his iron cut through Caio’s body. Caio’s heart and chest heaved as the water swirled around him. The Pawelon drew close.
Caio jerked aside as the spear’s tip thrust past his chest. A hard surge of water crashed the Pawelon into him and their bodies collided, grappling.
A fierce hand grabbed Caio’s wrist. Fingers dug into his throat and he choked on cool water. Caio shoved the hand off his neck and tried to expel the liquid from his lungs.
The second Pawelon swam close, ready to thrust his spear. The strong arms of the veteran wrapped around Caio’s chest from behind, restraining him. Caio thrashed, overpowered.
I’m going to die.
The spear came at him. I forgive you. The blade pierced his chest, glancing off his ribs. Caio bellowed, bubbles erupting from his throat. Blood gushed from his chest, a murky red cloud in the blue.
Vine-covered Lord Oderigo flashed in his mind. Caio’s eyes closed, his world fell away to nothingness, and death’s long tunnel opened before him.
 
~~~~~
 
Lucia stared at the spot where Caio had been standing.
Whatever spell you’ve cast—her thoughts burned on the Pawelon sages—I will break.
She raced up the dry hill pointing Ysa’s sword at the sky, her muscles alive with exertion. “Ysa, destroy them for whatever they’ve done to him!”
The sword discharged a shocking force into her body, stunning her senseless. The energy retreated back into the sword and shot from its tip toward the water.
Lucia collapsed in a quivering heap, battered lungs straining to breathe. Gasping for air, a vision of blond Ysa appeared before her closed eyes.
 
~~~~~
 
Death’s tunnel pulled Caio in, faster and faster …
BOOM!
An explosion shattered the black tunnel. Caio became conscious of his body again. A shock wave sent blistering heat across his skin. He picked up the scent of sizzled hair and flesh.
Dozens of Pawelons floated around him, all but one unconscious. The first attacker floated away, twitching involuntarily. The young man who speared him struggled with weak limbs to grab his floating weapon.
Caio grabbed the spear with his right hand, Mya’s rod still somehow in his left. As he pushed the weapon away, their eyes met. The boy wrapped his fingers across his own throat with terror contorting his face. Caio heard a garbled sound from him and knew the young man was nearly out of breath. By some grace, Caio no longer struggled to breathe.
His empathy reached out to the boy, and the Pawelon’s came to him in a flash of insight. His family lived in a poverty-stricken village in the mountains near the city of Mathura. Caio saw his possible future. He saw the man someday with a large, loving family. His first son would become a respected spiritual leader among his people.
Caio watch the young man’s agony as he drowned. He reached out just as the boy’s body went soft, and put his arms around him.
Mya, protect his soul.
The rest were dead. Caio somehow knew the boy's spirit had been powerful enough to keep him conscious after the lightning spread through the water.
The water gave way and flooded down the hill’s steep slopes. Caio crashed to the ground in the center of the outpost, clinging to the young soldier and bleeding on his enemy’s soaked uniform. He rolled onto his knees and grabbed the boy’s shirt with both hands.
Mya, I command you, raise this young man from death!


Chapter Fourteen: A Rival to the Gods
 
 
Moments earlier.
 
ILARIO WATCHED SPARKS OF LIGHTING flow from Lucia’s sword, around her armored body, back into the blade, and then out toward the hovering mass of water.
“Lucia!”
He slid beside her, panting, his knees scraping against the desert floor. He dropped his sword and put his hands to her cheeks.
“Lucia, you’re going to be all right!”
Her body writhed. She struggled to breathe. No air came in or out.
Ilario pressed against her breastplate, hoping to awaken her stunned lungs. A tortured sound escaped her throat, followed by wheezing, then choking breaths.
“I’m okay,” her pained voice lied. “Stop their sages. Go find Caio.” She squeezed her eyes shut and grimaced. “I’ll follow. Go!”
Ilario grabbed his sword and stood, his heart slugging his ribcage. Lucia’s suffering filled his mind with red rage. He wanted to stay with her, but he knew she was right. The warpriests would protect her while he searched for Caio.
With duty focusing his mind like the edge of his blade, he pushed his muscles to their limits and ignored the burning in his thighs. He sprinted to the wall of the Pawelon outpost, just beneath the chaotic waters. He dug his fingers into the stone walls, climbed, and jumped upward into the hovering sea.
The water sucked him in deeper before its force released him. His stomach hit the dry ground. A moment later, the sea crashed down over him, surging past his ears as it flooded the area. He jumped up reflexively, spinning with sword in hand. The water cascaded off the hill in all directions, revealing hundreds of dead Pawelons. Their outpost had become their graveyard.
Caio lay near the center of the structure, beside a Pawelon’s body, both of them covered in blood. Ilario ran as Caio came up onto his knees and grabbed the unconscious soldier by his shirt. Caio’s face contorted in agony, revealing intense concern for the young Pawelon.
“Let me help you.” Ilario approached him, tearing off his cloak to cover Caio’s wounds. The warpriests were running in from behind.
“Stay back, Ilario. These men are dead because of me,” Caio said.
“You did this so fewer will have to die.”
“What about this one? Does he deserve to die?”
Caio put his palms on the dead Pawelon’s chest. His hands and arms glowed red and black, projecting dark swirling colors into the daylight. The colors transformed slowly into pure white. The light spread over and around the soldier, sheathing him like a cocoon. The boy rose into the air.
A gust of breath punched its way into the Pawelon’s chest, and his body rippled with an aftershock. The lights lifted higher, and he with them, turning him until his feet dangled just above the ground. The coat of light sank into his chest and disappeared. The young Pawelon landed upright.
We’ll never see this miracle again. Ilario realized he’d been one of only a dozen to witness the single resurrection by the Haizzem of his era. The greatest miracle Caio could grant in this life was given and done.
“You resurrected a gods-damned Pawelon!” Lucia’s voice bellowed from well behind Ilario. She flung down Ysa’s helm and stormed forward.
Ilario envisioned two scenarios in which he might need to intervene, one involving an angry Lucia and the other involving a violent Pawelon. He took another step toward Caio and the pig. Caio bent over, hiding his face and breathing hard. The Pawelon’s face revealed his enchanted state of mind.
Ilario said in stilted Pawelon, “Sit down. We’ll not hurt you.”
Caio raised his head off the ground, and the boy sat as commanded.
Lucia raced forward, pointing Ysa’s white blade at Caio. “You raised a gods-damned Pawelon from the dead?”
“He will have seven children,” Caio said. “He will be a peaceful man, a good man. I couldn’t—”
“Lucia, please put your sword away,” Ilario said as he raised his free hand.
“You could have saved one of ours some day.” She sheathed the blade with a resounding slam. “This is an outrage, an insult to our entire history.”
Caio pressed his lips together, restraining his words. His eyes were locked with Lucia’s, asking for understanding.
“Damn, Caio! How could you do this? How could you be so irresponsible?”
“I could not let this boy die! You don’t understand how much he has to live for.”
“Just one time, Caio. Just once. You’ve gone and used your power. How could you!”
Caio pushed himself up, revealing a long, bleeding gash on one side of his chest.
Ilario rushed to him and covered him with his cloak. “Lay down, Caio. You’re losing a lot blood.”
Lucia came forward and knelt beside her brother. Her red face turned pale. “I am sorry. I didn’t know.”
“We’re going to take care of you.” Ilario held the cloth to Caio’s chest and watched the blood run down his hands. “Don’t worry.”
Lord Sansone, let him be all right.
Ilario glanced at the Pawelon. The boy stared at the ground with his mouth open, looking too stunned to move.
Caio’s eyes opened wider in a defenseless, humble expression. “If anything happens to me, remember what I said to you. You should be happy together.”
“Caio, don’t talk like that.” A sickening taste forced its way up Ilario’s throat and into his mouth. “Stay with us, Caio. We need you.”
What the hell have you gods done to him? All he’s ever done is worship you.
Caio opened his eyes. “I feel Mya’s healing presence.”
Lucia’s breathing was out of control. “Tell her you want to live.”
“I couldn’t let him die. I couldn’t live with myself if I did.”
Lucia’s eyes softened.
“Stay with me, here and now,” Ilario said. “Focus on your healing.”
The warpriests had encircled them. They sat up from their prostrations and one of them began chanting a hypnotic prayer. The others joined in, uttering the specific, harsh sounds of the old tongue. Lucia placed her hands beside Ilario’s on Caio’s chest.
Ilario prayed in silent anguish to the backdrop of chanting, watching Caio smile despite his suffering. He looked down again and fought the churning nausea in his stomach as he watched the Haizzem’s dark red blood stain his hands.


Chapter Fifteen: The Quieting of the Gods
 
 
HEARING THE WARPRIESTS’ resonant intoning gave Caio tranquil distraction from the guilt and doubts thumping inside his breast. He felt Mya’s invisible hands over his wound, soothing the bloody sting. Her spirit filled him like a cool spray of water tumbling off the canyon’s edge.
Invigorated, Caio sat up on one knee. Ilario rested a heavy hand on his shoulder, his light brown eyes full of concern. Caio stood, ignoring the pain still burning in his chest.
Ilario rose with him. “Don’t strain. Your duty is done.”
“We’ll call off the offensive.” Lucia leaned against Caio and kissed his cheek, rekindling his will to press on.
“I can still pray. My body suffers, but my spirit soars.” Each word Caio spoke intensified the pain in his chest. “These deaths should not be for nothing. We will push on.”
The young Pawelon gazed at the spacious sky. Caio sensed everything the boy was feeling: stillness, gratitude, and wonder.
Caio addressed the boy in his own language. “Now you know the peace of death.”
“What happened to me?”
“The gods of Lux Lucis brought you back to us. Your life means too much for it to end today.”
The soldier came to his feet and staggered around, calmly viewing his fallen allies. “These men … they are in a better place now.” He turned his eyes to Caio and stared. “Are you … ?”
“I am the Haizzem.”
“You saved my life.”
“I want you to return to your people. My army is coming. We intend to end the war today. You won’t be safe unless you leave the area. Go north until you reach the lake. Wait there, and return to your people some other day.” Caio coughed, causing hot daggers to stab his chest. “I’ve seen your future. You must live. You have so much to live for.”
“I owe you my life … so I will do as you say.” The boy pursed his lips, deciding something. “My army will soon realize something is wrong. That we are not communicating with them. Only our sages can send signals back to them.”
“Thank you,” Caio bowed as he spoke. “My brother, not all of us believe in this war. I, for one, do not.”
“Then go home. Go back to your lands and leave my people alone. If you are the Haizzem, why don’t you make them all go?”
Ilario was still holding his cloak to Caio’s wounds. He interrupted, speaking the Pawelon language with some difficulty. “Because this world is not yet right. Look how your people suffer. You believe in no greater power than yourselves, and look at the results. You live like pigs. You suffer—”
“And you mean to help my people? You wish to see us suffer less? We are happier than you think—”
Caio interrupted, “My father believes this war to be a religious act.”
“Don’t you command this army now? Take your people home. Let us all live.”
Ilario spoke again, “Then you would come after us.”
“We would not!”
Lucia commanded everyone’s attention: “Our people believe it’s the gods’ will that we wage this war, because they want us to better our world. But if Rezzia is not guided by the gods of Lux Lucis, we will not conquer Pawelon. Soon, we will know what the gods wish for.” She looked at Caio, and he understood her meaning: Lord Danato’s vision, Caio’s abilities, and the favor of the gods would be put to the test on this day.
“You, Haizzem,” the boy said, “you have such power. You should follow your own truth.”
Maybe you’re right.
The boy had named the outcome Caio wanted most: a retreat with no further casualties. The young Pawelon could be the last to die in the war, even though he now lived. The miracle of life given back to him could be such a worthy, symbolic act if his resurrection were to be the final turning point in the war. How many lives could be saved?
But it’s impossible.
The entire nation of Rezzia, as well as its army, expected the fighting to crescendo now that he was Dux Spiritus. History, tradition, and even scripture gave him a mission to fulfill, made necessary by his father’s sacrifice. He was the son of King Vieri, the Dux Spiritus of Rezzia, the Haizzem of their faith, and no one in his proud nation would be willing to see him lose. He had only one option, an already decided fate—and I despise that with my whole heart and soul.
“Go!” Caio pointed north at the sun. The star blazed wine-red in the early morning haze. “Go north to the shore. Our armies are approaching. Run as fast as you can. Live for tomorrow. Live out your life!”
The boy walked away, then turned around again, out of words. His gape showed his sadness and rage. He glanced at the warpriests before racing toward the sun.
“If you insist on going forward,” Lucia said, “we should pray for a great rain to conceal our advance. Now.”
Mya …
The Rezzian army could barely be heard marching in from the east. A gust of dry heat blew across the land as pregnant clouds formed and distant thunder rumbled.


Afterword


If you’ve read this far, then you’ve read 15 of the early chapters of The Black God’s War. The full novel, which is now available, is 85 chapters long. In order to put together this novella-length story, I chose to leave out six of the early chapters that show the Pawelon side of the war. In the novel, the major Pawelon characters (you’ve met only three of them briefly: Rao, Indrajit, and Briraji) are just as important as the Rezzians and they are introduced after the Rezzians beginning in chapter six. Of course, I love all my characters equally, so it was hard to leave Narayani, Aayu, and Devak out of the novella. I hope they’ll forgive me (and you, too).
For this novella, I decided to cover one story arc from the novel: Caio and his ability to resurrect one person from death. I hope this was a satisfying ending for you.
This is my first attempt at writing publishable fiction, so I welcome your feedback. I hope to be able to continue doing this for a long time, improving with each effort.
If you’d like to subscribe to my newsletter for updates about future releases, you can email me at mosesmerlin@hotmail.com with SUBSCRIBE BOOK NEWS in the subject heading. Or you can subscribe at my blog to get email notifications of every new blog post: www.ScienceFictionFantasyBooks.net. You can also find my Twitter, Facebook, GoodReads, Shelfari, YouTube, and other social networking links on my blog.
Thanks so much for reading this story.


Acknowledgments


Without the following people and websites, this work would not be as it is today. I thank you all from my heart and I also thank everyone who has supported or challenged me on this journey.
In alphabetical order:
AbsoluteWrite, Authonomy, Brandon Sanderson, Chuck Taylor, Clancy Metzger, Colette Vernon, Colton Goodrich, Craig Saunders, Critters.org, D.T. Conklin, Damien Stolarz, David Anthony Durham, David Dalglish, David Farland, David Kerschner, Debra L. Martin, D.P. Prior, Evan Braun, Grace Siregar, J.A. Konrath, Jillian Sheridan, Joshua Essoe, K.C. May, Kevin J Anderson, Kylie Quillinan, Lane Diamond, Laura Resnick, Leah Petersen, Leigh Galbreath, Lenny Gredel, Libbie Mistretta, Michael Tobias Herbert, Molly Siregar, Nikki Neal, Rebecca Moesta, Rich W. Ware, Scott Nicholson, Steven Forrest, Tania Gilchrist, William Campbell, and Zoe Winters.
Double thanks go out to my nimble copyeditor, Jillian Sheridan, and my other editors D.P. Prior and Joshua Essoe.
The writing of this story was powered by the album The Hazards of Love by The Decemberists. The editing was powered mainly by Black Symphony by Within Temptation. While writing it, I also listened to this playlist:

Lose Yourself, Eminem
Hurt, Johnny Cash
No Quarter (Live), Led Zeppelin
Grux & Shake Me Like a Monkey, Dave Matthews Band
Bard’s Curse, Kit Soden
Won’t Want for Love (Margaret in the Taiga), The Decemberists
Boy With a Coin, Iron & Wine
Catch and Release, Silversun Pickups
Joni(Stardust), Jozef Slanda
Different World & The Pilgrim & The Reincarnation of Benjamin Breeg, Iron Maiden

I don’t know if I could write a novel without music, so I want to say thanks to these musicians and the muses who inspired them.


About the Author


When I was ten, I fell in love with an anime series: a space opera spanning three human generations, a saga that unfolded over 85 consecutive episodes and four months of after-school TV. Watching Robotech was a spiritual experience for me. I still remember how high I felt after watching the final episode for the first time.
That’s when I decided I wanted to be a storyteller someday, hoping to inspire other people as Robotech inspired me. A few years ago, I finally got back around to my heart’s desire when I was a boy: telling the big story.
I’ve never had so much fun.