by Morgan Rice
Volusia reached out and took the long, golden ceremonial sword, its blade six feet long, and tightened her grip on the hilt with both hands. A hushed silence fell over her people as she wheeled, raised it high, and brought it down on the back of bull’s neck with all her might.
The blade, as sharp as could be, as thin as parchment, sliced right through, and Volusia grinned as she heard the satisfying sound of sword piercing flesh, felt it cutting all the way through, and felt its hot blood spraying her face. It gushed everywhere, a huge puddle oozing onto her feet, and the bull stumbled, headless, and fell at the base of her still-covered statue. The blood gushed all over the silk and the gold, staining it, as her people let out a great cheer.
“A great omen, my lady,” Aksan leaned over and said.
The ceremonies had begun. All around her, trumpets sounded, and hundreds of animals were brought forth, as her officers began slaughtering them on all sides of her. It would be a long day of slaughtering and raping and gorging on food and wine—and then doing it all over again, for another day, and another. Volusia would make sure she joined them, would take some men and wine for herself, and would slit their throats as a sacrifice to her idols. She looked forward to a long day of sadism and brutality.
But first, there was one thing left to do.
The crowd quieted as Volusia ascended the pedestal at the base of her statue and turned and faced her people. Climbing up on the other side of her was Koolian, another trusted advisor, a dark sorcerer wearing a black hood and cloak, with glowing green eyes and a wart-lined face, the creature who had helped guide her to her own mother’s assassination. It was he, Koolian, who had advised her to build this statue to herself.
The people stared at her, silent as could be. She waited, savoring the drama of the moment.
“Great people of Volusia!” she boomed. “I present to you the statue of your newest and greatest god!”
With a flourish Volusia pulled back the silk sheet, to a gasp of the crowd.
“Your new goddess, the fifteenth goddess, Volusia!” Koolian boomed to the people.
The people let out a hushed sound of awe, as they all looked up at it in wonder. Volusia looked up at the shining golden statue, twice as high as the others, a perfect model of her. She waited, nervous, to see how her people would react. It had been centuries since anyone had introduced a new god, and she was gambling to see if their love for her was as strong as she needed it to be. She didn’t just need them to love her; she needed them to worship her.
To her great satisfaction, her people, as one, all suddenly dropped to their faces, bowing down, worshiping her idol.
“Volusia,” they chanted sacredly, again and again. “Volusia. Volusia.”
Volusia stood there, arms out wide, breathing deep, taking it all in. It was enough praise to satisfy any human. Any leader. Any god.
But it was still not enough for her.
*
Volusia walked through the wide, open-air arched entrance to her castle, passing marble columns a hundred feet high, the halls lined with gardens and guards, Empire soldiers, standing perfectly erect, holding golden spears, lined up as far as the eye could see. She walked slowly, the golden heels of her boots clicking, accompanied, on either side Koolian, her sorcerer, Aksan, her assassin, and Soku, the commander of her army.
“My lady, if I could just have a word with you,” Soku said. He’d been trying to talk to her all day, and she’d been ignoring him, not interested in his fears, in his fixation on reality. She had her own reality, and she would address him when the time suited her.
Volusia continued marching until she reached another entrance to another corridor, this one bedecked with long strips of emerald beads. Immediately, soldiers rushed forward and pulled them to the side, allowing a passage for her.
As she entered, all the chanting and cheering and reveling of the sacred ceremonies outdoors began to fade away. She’d had a long day of slaughtering and drinking and raping and feasting, and Volusia wanted some time to collect herself. She would recharge, then go back for another round.
Volusia entered the solemn chambers, dark and heavy, just a few torches lighting it. What lit the room mostly was the sole shaft of green light, shooting down from the oculus high above in the center of the hundred-foot-high ceiling, straight down to a singular object that sat alone in the center of the room.
The emerald spear.
Volusia approached it, in awe, as it sat there, as it had for centuries, pointing straight up into the light. With its emerald shaft and emerald spear point, it glistened in the light, aimed straight up at the heavens, as if challenging the gods. It had always been a sacred object for her people, one that her people believed sustained the entire city. She stood before it in awe, watching the particles swirl about it in the green light.
“My lady,” Soku said softly, his voice echoing in the silence. “May I speak?”
Volusia stood a long time, her back to him, examining the spear, admiring its craftsmanship as she had every day of her life, until finally she felt ready to hear her councilor’s words.
“You may,” she said.
“My lady,” he said, “you have killed the ruler of the Empire. Surely, word has spread. Armies will be marching for Volusia right now. Massive armies, larger than we could ever defend against. We must prepare. What is your strategy?”
“Strategy?” Volusia asked, still not looking at him, annoyed.
“How will you broker peace?” he pressed. “How will you surrender?”
She turned to him and fixed her eyes on him coldly.
“There will be no peace,” she said. “Until I accept their surrender and their oath of fealty to me.”
He looked back, fear in his face.
“But my lady, they outnumber us a hundred to one,” he said. “We cannot possibly defend against them.”
She turned back to the spear, and he stepped forward, desperate.
“My Empress,” he persisted. “You’ve achieved a remarkable victory in usurping your mother’s throne. She was not loved by the people, and you are. They worship you. None will speak to you frankly. But I shall. You surround yourself by people who tell you what you wish to hear. Who fear you. But I shall tell you the truth, the reality of our situation. The Empire will surround us. And we will be crushed. There will be nothing left of us, of our city. You must take action. You must broker a truce. Pay whatever price they want. Before they kill us all.”
Volusia smiled as she studied the spear.
“Do you know what they said about my mother?” she asked.
Soku stood there and looked back at her blankly, and shook his head.
“They said she was the Chosen One. They said she would never be defeated. They said she would never die. Do you know why? Because no one had wielded this spear in six centuries. And she came along and wielded it with one hand. And she used it to kill her father and take his throne.”
Volusia turned to him, her eyes aglow with history and destiny.
“They said the spear would only be wielded once. By the Chosen One. They said my mother would live a thousand centuries, that the throne of Volusia would be hers forever. And do you know what happened? I wielded the spear myself—and I used it to kill my mother.”
She took a deep breath.
“What does that tell you, Lord Commander?”
He looked at her, confused, and shook his head, puzzled.
“We can either live in the shadow of other people’s legends,” Volusia said, “or we can create our own.”
She leaned in close, scowling, glaring back at him in fury.
“When I have crushed the entire Empire,” she said, “when everyone in this universe bends their knee to me, when there is not a single living person left that doesn’t know and scream and cry my name, you will know then that I am the one and only true leader—and that I am the one and only true god. I am the Chosen One. Because I have chosen myself.”
CHAPTER TEN
Gw
endolyn walked through the village, accompanied by her brothers Kendrick and Godfrey, and by Sandara, Aberthol, Brandt and Atme, with hundreds of her people trailing her, as they all were welcomed here. They were led by Bokbu, the village chief, and Gwen walked beside him, filled with gratitude as she toured his village. His people had taken them in, had provided them safe harbor, and the chief had done so at his own risk, against some of his own people’s will. He had saved them all, had pulled them all back from the dead. Gwen did not know what they would have done otherwise. They would probably all be dead at sea.
Gwen also felt a rush of gratitude for Sandara, who had vouched for them with her people, and who’d had the wisdom to bring them all here. Gwen looked about, taking in the scene as all the villagers swarmed them, watching them arrive like things of curiosity, and she felt like an animal on display. Gwen saw all the small, quaint, modeling clay cottages, and she saw a proud people, a nation of warriors with kind eyes, watching them. Clearly, they’d never seen anything like Gwen and her people. Though curious, they were also guarded. Gwen could not blame them. A lifetime of slavery had molded them to be cautious.
Gwen noticed all the bonfires being erected everywhere, and she wondered.
“Why all the fires?” she asked.
“You arrive at an auspicious day,” Bokbu said. “It is our festival of the dead. A holy night for us, it arrives but once a sun cycle. We burn fires to honor the gods of the dead, and it is said that on this night, the gods visit us, and speak to us of what is to come.”
“It is also said that our savior will arrive on this day,” chimed in a voice.
Gwendolyn looked over to see an older man, perhaps in his seventies, tall, thin with a somber look to him, walk up beside them, carrying a long, yellow staff and wearing a yellow cloak.
“May I introduce you to Kalo,” Bokbu said. “Our oracle.”
Gwen nodded, and he nodded back, expressionless.
“Your village is beautiful,” Gwendolyn remarked. “I can see the love of family here.”
The chief smiled.
“You are young for a queen, but wise, gracious. It is true what they say about you from across the sea. I wish that you and your people could stay right here, in the village, with us; but you understand, we must hide you from the prying eyes of the Empire. You will be staying close, though; that will be your home, there.”
Gwendolyn followed his gaze and looked up and saw a distant mountain, filled with holes.
“The caves,” he said. “You will be safe there. The Empire will not look for you there, and you can burn your fires and cook your food and recover until you’re well.”
“And then?” Kendrick asked, joining them.
Bokbu looked over at him, but before he could respond, he suddenly came to a stop as before him there appeared a tall, muscular villager holding a spear, flanked by a dozen muscular men. It was the same man from the ship, the one that protested their arrival—and he did not look happy.
“You endanger all of our people by allowing the strangers here,” he said darkly. “You must send them back to where they came from. It is not our job to take in every last race that washes up here.”
Bokbu shook his head as he faced him.
“Your fathers are ashamed of you,” he said. “The laws of our hospitality extend to all.”
“And is it the burden of a slave to extend hospitality?” he retorted. “When we cannot even find it ourselves?”
“How we are treated has no bearing on how we treat others,” the chief retorted. “And we shall not turn away those who need us.”
The villager sneered back, glaring at Gwendolyn, Kendrick, the others, then back to the chief.
“We do not want them here,” he said, seething. “The caves are not far away enough, and every day they are here, we are a day closer to death.”
“And what good is this life you cling to if it is not spent justly?” the chief asked.
The man stared him down for a long time, the finally turned and stormed off, his men following him.
Gwendolyn watched them go, wondering.
“Do not mind him,” the chief said, as he continued walking and Gwen and the others fell in beside him.
“I do not wish to be a burden on you,” Gwendolyn said. “We can leave.”
The chief shook his head.
“You will not leave,” he said. “Not until you are rested and ready. There are other places you can go in the Empire, if you choose. Places that are also well hidden. But they are far from here, and dangerous to reach, and you must recover and decide and stay here with us. I insist on it. In fact, for this night only, I wish for you to join us, to join our festivities in the village. It is already nightfall—the Empire will not see you—and this is an important day for us. I would be honored to have you as our guests.”
Gwendolyn noticed dusk was falling, saw all the bonfires being lit, the villagers dressed in their finest, gathering around; she heard a drumbeat start to rise up, soft, steady, then chanting. She saw children running around, grabbing treats that looked like candies. She saw men passing around coconuts filled with some sort of liquid, and she could smell the meat in the air from the large animals roasting on the fires.
Gwen liked the idea of her people having a chance to rest and recover and have a good meal before they ascended to the isolation of the caves.
She turned to the chief.
“I’d like that,” she said. “I would like that very much.”
*
Sandara walked by Kendrick’s side, overcome with emotion to be back home again. She was happy to be home, to be back with her people on familiar land; yet she also felt restrained, felt like a slave again. Being here brought back memories of why she had left, why she had volunteered to be in service to the Empire and cross the seas with them as a healer. At least it had gotten her out of this place.
Sandara felt so relieved that she had been able to help save Gwendolyn’s people, to bring them all here before they died at sea. As she walked beside Kendrick, more than anything, she wanted to hold his hand, to proudly display her man to her people. But she could not. There were too many eyes on them, and she knew her village would never condone a union between the races.
Kendrick, as if reading her thoughts, reached up and slipped an arm around her waist, and Sandara quickly brushed it away. Kendrick looked at her, hurt.
“Not here,” she replied softly, feeling guilty.
Kendrick frowned, baffled.
“We have spoken of this,” she said. “I told you my people are rigid. I must respect their laws.”
“Are you ashamed of me then?” Kendrick asked.
Sandara shook her head.
“No, my lord. On the contrary. There is no one I am more proud of. And no one I love more. But I cannot be with you. Not here. Not in this place. You must understand.”
Kendrick’s expression darkened, and she felt awful for it.
“Yet this is where we are,” he said. “There is no other place for us. Shall we not be together then?”
She spoke, her heart breaking at her own words: “You will stay in the caves of your people,” she said. “I shall stay here, in the village. With my people. It is my role. I love you, but we cannot be together. Not in this place.”
Kendrick looked away, hurt, and Sandara wanted to explain further when suddenly a voice interrupted.
“Sandara!?” called out the voice.
Sandara turned, shocked to recognize the familiar voice, the voice of her only brother. Her heart leapt as she saw him, pushing out from the crowd, walking toward her.
Darius.
He looked much bigger and stronger and older than when she had left him, filled with a confidence she had not seen before. She left him as a boy, and now, while young, he appeared to be a man. With his long, unruly hair hanging down, tied behind his back, still never cut, his face as proud as ever, he looked exactly like their father. She could see the warrior in his eyes.
Sandara was
overwhelmed with joy to see him, to see that he was alive, had not died or been broken like all the other slaves, his proud spirit still leading the way. She rushed forward and embraced him, as he embraced her back. It felt so good to see him again.
“I feared you were dead,” he said.
She shook her head.
“Just across the sea,” she said. “I left you a boy—and you have become a man.”
He smiled back proudly. In this small oppressive village, in this awful place in the world, Darius had been her one source of solace, and she his. They had both suffered together, especially since the disappearance of their father.
Kendrick approached and Sandara saw him and stood there, frozen, unsure how to introduce him as she saw Darius looking at him. She knew she had to make some sort of introduction.
Kendrick beat her to it. He stepped forward, reaching out a hand.
“I am Kendrick,” he said.
“And I am Darius,” he replied, shaking hands.
“Kendrick, this is my brother,” Sandara said, nervous, stumbling. “Darius, this is…well…this is…”
Flustered, Sandara paused, unsure what to say. Darius held out a hand.
“You don’t have to explain to me, my sister,” he said. “I’m not like the others. I understand.”
Sandara could see in Darius’s eyes that he did understand, and that he did not judge her. Sandara loved him for it.
They all turned and walked together, falling in with the others as they toured the village.
“You have chosen quite a tumultuous time to return,” Darius said, tension in his voice. “Much has happened here. Much is happening.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, nervous.
“We have much catching up to do, my sister. Kendrick, you shall join us too. Come, the fires have begun.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Godfrey sat in the village before the raging bonfire in the starry night, nearby his sister Gwendolyn, his brother Kendrick, Steffen, Brandt, Atme, Aberthol, and nearly all the people he remembered from the Ring. Seated beside him were Akorth and Fulton, and as he saw them it reminded him that more than ever he desperately needed a drink.
