Torsten couldn’t bear the sight of it. He couldn’t even pray, though he doubted that in this tainted place, Iam could hear him anyway. His light certainly had stopped shining here.
All Torsten could hope to do was hurry to Latiapur, and finish securing the alliance that might give them a fighting chance against Nesilia. All living things needed to stand together if they had any hope, but he’d start with the newly appointed Caleef Mahraveh, and the Black Sands.
IV
The Caleef
Caleef Mahraveh stood alone on the northern shores of Latiapur, just beyond the bluffs of the Tal’du Dromesh. It felt fitting that her father should pass on into the Eternal Current here, in the place he’d made a name for himself.
Muskigo “The Scythe” Ayerabi.
Even with the clumps of black sand covering his eyes, her father looked merely asleep on a pad of driftwood tied together by strands of seaweed. His arms were crossed over his chest, that sickle-blade, almost as famous as the man himself, resting firmly in his hands. He’d lived by the proverbial sword, and now he would die with it.
The last of the Ayerabi Afhemate. The last blood-connection Mahi had in the entire world.
She wished she could cry as she watched the rising tide’s gentle hands spread across the beach, slowing reaching out to grasp and usher him into rest. However, ever since the God of Sand and Sea spat her back out, she’d been unable to manage tears.
Foam swirled in the dark grains of sand at her feet, creating a tapestry of white and black that once reminded Mahi of clouds in the night sky. But now, she was too old for such imaginings. Too many centuries of her peoples’ violent history bounced around her brain. All the lives of past Caleefs pounded like the sea against her consciousness. They offered both answers and doubts, but one thing was certain—none knew what to do about this.
Mahi’s father hadn’t been killed in a conflict with rival afhemates. There were no afhemates, not anymore. He hadn’t been killed by a war with another people or the Kingdom of Glass, even. No. He’d been murdered by a darkness no one could understand, because they hadn’t felt it like she had. He’d been killed by a goddess, and the sting went bone-deep, for within Mahi dwelled the goddess’ brother, her god, whose true name was Caliphar.
“They say he gave his life defending Sir Torsten Unger,” Bit’rudam said from behind.
In her previous life, his sudden appearance would have startled her, but now, Mahi simply glanced back.
The golden Serpent Guard armor fit him well. Bit’rudam had become a hero of her people, winning the tournament meant as a distraction from the horrors. As his final opponent had him on his back, ready to claim victory, Mahi felt the flitting of her heart. It was a fleeting sensation, but it reminded her of days before her god made her carry so much weight.
And Bit’rudam didn’t disappoint. He was equally smart as he was skilled with a blade and his baiting of the larger opponent had worked. She should have seen it coming, but for him, there was genuine concern. He rose as the blunt end of the opponent’s spear drove downward—this wasn’t a tournament like the rest. Sure, blood could be drawn, but there would be no death. As the weapon spewed up sand, Bit’rudam kicked, buckling the opponent’s knee, then he brought the pommel of his own sword out, and sent the man into unconsciousness.
And so, unlike the rest of the Order he now led, she didn’t allow him to cover his face or cut out his tongue. She wanted to hear him, to see him, to be reminded of who she’d been before all of this, before so many years were jumbled around in her mind, and people from every background bowed to her—if they could even bear to look at her.
“Then I look forward to asking Sir Unger about his end when he arrives,” Mahi said.
“My Caleef, Tingur was there as well,” Bit’rudam said. “He spoke of how brave Muskigo was in the face of power he’d never before witnessed.”
“And I trust Tingur. However, the rivalry between Sir Unger and my father is legendary. If he truly gave his life protecting the former Wearer of White, I must know everything.”
Bit’rudam bit his lip. “I should have been there.”
Mahi reached out and laid her hand upon his shoulder. She hated the way instinct made him shrink back from her, like he was scared or awestruck, or both. But at least he didn’t fall to his knees and kowtow.
“I needed you here,” she said.
“I know. And it is my honor to serve you, my Caleef.” She noticed his knee shift. Then his foot. But before he could fall into a bow, she tugged on his arm and led him toward her father. The tide had him now, slowly dragging his raft across the sand into the sea’s loving embrace. It was a beautiful custom, but painful to watch.
A Shesaitju should never place their dead directly into the water. The water itself had to accept the soul, and she knew her father would be accepted. Nobody had better-exemplified their old ways.
“If you were there, you, too, would be dead,” Mahi said. “As the God of Sand and Sea said, we need everyone to stand against her.”
“Well, she made one mistake.”
“And what is that?” Mahi asked.
“She made it personal for you. I may not know you as well as some, but it seems that when you want something, you do not give up until you have it.”
“It’s more than personal, Bit’rudam,” she said, stern. “She threatens everything.” She knew he was only trying to be playful, but she couldn’t even feign a smile.
“I know. I didn’t—“
“Why are you here?” she interrupted. “I asked to be alone.”
He straightened his back. “Right, I… Afhem—I mean former Afhem Nasser and nearly a hundred warriors have fled east. They don’t believe that what happened outside White Bridge is the truth. They believe the Glass is coming to bury us again.”
“Our own people have said the same. A woman of pure darkness stood against both armies all on her own. She killed the greatest warrior in all of Pantego without breaking a sweat.” She pointed down to her father’s body, rocking as the wood clung to the last few bits of sand before it was completely free. “Is that not proof enough?”
“I do not doubt you, my Caleef,” Bit’rudam said. “But the Glass King coming here for a marriage… That is quite different from a military alliance. There are many, like Nasser, who believe this is all a ploy by the Glass to end the fighting, that Babrak was right and that you weren’t…”
He paused. She trusted him, but she could read the lines of struggle written all over his face.
“Say it,” she said.
He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, then whispered, “Chosen.”
“And what do you think about me marrying King Pi?” Mahi asked.
The struggle on his face transformed into something akin to pain. “I appreciate the strategy of it,” he remarked.
“Then that is why I needed you at my side. I will never love King Pi. I will never love any of them. But I will do anything for our people.”
“And that is why I know you were chosen,” Bit’rudam said. His gaze fell toward the sand. “As much as I hate that it has to be you.”
Mahi nodded. She understood. In fact, she loved that a part of him could still be honest with her. He reminded her so much of Jumaat. Sometimes, she had to remind herself it wasn’t him, while at the same time, her mind told her that maybe the Eternal Current had carried him back to her in a new form.
“If I marry him,” Mahi said, “can you still serve me?”
“I gave my oath,” he answered, still unable to look her in the eye.
“Even though he’s a Glassman?”
“Whoever he is.”
Now, he looked up, eyes dark but glinting like sunlight over the waves of the far ocean. Also like Jumaat’s, they were beautiful. Mahi wished she could fall deeper into them, but she knew she couldn’t for fear of getting lost there. The things she wanted were nothing now. She was only the Caleef.
“Good,” she said, turning away.
&n
bsp; He pulled her back. “Just promise me you won’t forget your people. Traveling with my father, trading goods… I’ve seen the temptations of their way of life—the riches of Yarrington. They often tempted him. And… me.”
“Never forget that marrying him was my idea, not theirs,” Mahi scolded, glaring down at his hand. He immediately let her go, and she immediately regretted it. It was another force driving her. That’s what all the past Caleefs would have done if they’d been touched without permission. It was what they had done. She could see every occasion playing on repeat in her mind’s eye.
“Of course, my Caleef,” he muttered.
A bell rang, then another, followed by a zhulong-tusk horn signaling a friendly ship approaching the main Latiapurian docks.
“Right on time,” Bit’rudam said. “Let’s head back. You should be there to greet them.”
“Wait,” Mahi said, turning her attention back to her father. The sea nearly had him.
“I don’t mean for them. Our people should see you there, or I’m not sure how they’ll respond.”
“I said, wait,” she snapped.
“Yes, my Caleef.”
She stood for minutes longer until the water grew brave, and a powerful wave reached in. The planks holding Muskigo scraped off the sand and floated out into the sea. Just like that, her father was free of all the fighting that had dominated his life. Mahi knew he would sail at the top of the Current, where only the worthiest belonged, shaping the very world of those left behind.
Muskigo ‘the Scythe’ Ayerabi, one of the greatest warriors Pantego had ever known, was gone. Again, she wished she could cry as she had when her mother died, or Shavi, or Jumaat. She wished she could feel that clench of her heart as sorrow took hold and squeezed with all its awful might.
She didn’t. Nor did she feel the unbridled rage she should have at the one who’d killed him. She simply remained steadfast, watching the waves carry him farther, one swell at a time. But she didn’t need to feel the anger to know that she wanted to make Nesilia pay. She didn’t want to drown her or bury her like Iam had. She wanted to break her apart piece by bleeding piece.
Bit’rudam was right. Nesilia had made it personal, and Mahi would do whatever it took to destroy her, even if that meant marrying the boy-King of the Glass Kingdom. Even if that meant destroying any hope of a new, independent Shesaitju like her father had dreamed of.
Nesilia would pay.
Protestors cluttered the streets of Latiapur. Mahi’s army had to patrol regularly to maintain order. She still had a significant fraction of the former afhems on her side, along with their afhemates. Especially all those who’d marched north and witnessed the wrath of Nesilia herself.
But not all.
Whispers of Babrak’s accursed name still lurked around every corner. Rumors flittered, telling of the new kingdom he’d declared from his seat in Abo’Fasaniyah—a kingdom faithful to the God of Sand and Sea and not Mahraveh, ‘the usurper daughter of the traitor Muskigo.’ Or so he claimed. Spies said that even now, he doused himself in the blood of the nigh’jels like a Caleef.
Mahi’s tournament to help choose a commander for the Serpent Guards built some trust amongst the people. However, after her father’s death, and the news that she intended to marry King Pi Nothhelm in an effort to unify their two kingdoms, much of that trust was lost. Warriors trickled out. Afhems vanished.
Babrak had lured enough to his side that, in a legitimate war, Mahi wasn’t sure which side would win to claim the Black Sands. However, with the entirety of the Glass army supporting her, all that would change. She’d command the most formidable army Pantego had ever seen, and she would command it.
From all she’d heard, Pi was a frightful, young boy who’d suffered greatly in his short life. A boy who’d been led around by his crazed mother like a leashed dog when he wasn’t possessed by blood magic. Barely a man. When they were wedded, she’d own him, and through him, an empire. The Black Sands could become the greatest power in Pantego without shedding another drop of blood.
All she had to do was stomach consummating the marriage with a Glassman barely of age.
“My Caleef,” Tingur pronounced as Mahi approached the Boiling Keep. He dropped to one knee, the other leg shaking. He lowered his head, revealing the patch of mutilated skin where his mark of afhemdom had been carved off. Since he was off in Nahanab when Mahi erased that part of Shesaitju history, his was fresher than the others.
“What is it?” Mahi asked. She nodded toward Bit’rudam, and he understood her intent, rushing ahead to help Tingur back up. She could tell the overweight man wasn’t happy about it, but he didn’t resist. The injuries he’d sustained fighting Nesilia had left him battered and broken. He could help Mahi command armies, but he’d be useless in a fight.
“We caught two men wearing the markings of the Trisps’I Afhemate in the markets, sowing discontent,” Tingur said.
“Where are they now?” Bit’rudam asked.
“In the palace dungeons. But they’re getting overcrowded these days.”
“It will only get worse,” Mahi said, matter-of-factly. “Keep at it. I want patrols on every street. Pull men from the navy; we’re safe on the waterfront. Anyone who speaks against this union, or even utters Babrak’s name must be locked up.”
Tingur’s lip twisted. “My Caleef, I mean no disrespect, but that will only make the people angrier. These showings of forces—it’s like tightening the reins on a zhulong in heat. It only makes them buck harder.”
“This, I know, but my father and Yuri Darkings taught me much about the Glassmen. To them, perception is everything. If they feel welcome, and see our control, then they’ll believe it. We can worry about our peoples’ feelings when the pink men are gone.”
“When you’re gone, you mean,” Tingur muttered.
“What?”
“You can’t expect they’ll allow you to stay here after you’re declared Queen of the Glass? Oleander Nothhelm was foreign as well, and she spent the rest of her life on display like a porcelain doll in the Glass Castle.”
Mahi stalked forward, towering over Tingur. It wasn’t difficult now that the once-great-warrior couldn’t stand without leaning on his hammer-staff. “Do I look like a doll?” she asked, which earned her a slow shake of Tingur’s head. “I will stay wherever this fight requires me to. Now, you will do as you’re commanded.”
He bowed his head. “Of course, my Caleef.”
“And Bit’rudam,” she added. “Offer him the full support of the Serpent Guards until the ceremony. I want them visible. Like Tingur said… on display.”
“I’m not sure that is wise,” Bit’rudam replied. “The Glassmen could be using this as a ploy to get close to you. I would rather them be nearby, keeping you protected.”
“The Glassmen won’t lay a finger on me.”
Mahi didn’t give him a chance to reply, sweeping past him and Tingur, and starting the climb up the grand stairs leading up to her palace. Shesaitju warriors were arrayed along the edges in perfect intervals. Each of them had been a member of the Ayerabi or al’Tariq afhemates—her most loyal followers. She couldn’t afford any mishaps.
The castrated palace sages flocked to her, whispering about all the rumors they’d heard, desperate for her favor. Nobody seemed to believe that now wasn’t the time for posturing and politics. This peace needed to be secured. In the face of Nesilia, the great unified army required the leadership of someone knowledgable in fighting.
From every corner of the world, travelers spoke of an army of monsters and demons. They said Panping had already fallen beneath the goddess’ might. Torsten Unger, the only remaining Glassman with the military influence to compete with her, was off investigating what they should prepare for. A part of her hoped he wouldn’t return to complicate her ambitions.
She stopped at the landing where the stairs branched off down a ravine to the docks. Beautiful, markless servants wearing little more than strands of seaweed awaited her, fit men a
nd women meant to appeal to Glassmen sensibilities. They fanned her with great palm leaves to keep her cool against the summer heat even though the nigh’jel blood coating Mahi’s every inch prevented her from feeling much of anything.
“I hope you know what you are doing,” a former afhem—one whose name she didn’t care enough to know—said to her from behind.
“Those who have remained with me will not regret it,” she replied.
“A storm nears,” spoke another, pointing east over the ridge of the palace. Dark clouds rolled over the Boiling Waters far away. Mahi hadn’t noticed them down by the shore, but the wall of black was nearly impossible to miss now.
“The God of Sand and Sea weeps for my father,” Mahi said. “He will be avenged.”
“Right. Vengeance on a reincarnated northern goddess,” the first afhem said. His tone said everything. No disrespect was intended, but Mahi could sense the doubt. She couldn’t blame him or the others for it. A goddess they’d barely ever heard about, whose people hailed from farther north than they ever cared about, wanting to kill them?
She wouldn’t have believed it either if she hadn’t felt Nesilia’s terrible presence herself, or heard Tingur’s first-hand account of White Bridge.
“I swear on all our ancestors, the Current is behind me,” Mahi affirmed. “Trust in me a little longer.”
“I trust in the Caleef, as our people always have,” the first former afhem said. “That is all.”
“Then, that will have to do.”
As the last words left Mahi’s lips, Shesaitju musicians started pounding the stretched zhulong leather of their drums. Pulley lifts rose from the ravine docks, cranking along with the beat. Sages split open nigh’jels and dripped strings of black blood along the path.
Mahi watched like a hawk, each clank of the lift feeling longer than the last. Dellbar the Holy, high steward of the Church of Iam, was supposed to be here to greet his King. After White Bridge, he’d arrived with Tingur alongside a contingent of Glass Soldiers sent by Sir Unger, and they stayed as guests in the former afhem quarter of the city. Mahi hadn’t had a chance to speak with Dellbar yet, as he remained locked up in his own special room within the keep.
The Nesilia's War Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set: Books 4-6) Page 116
