The Nesilia's War Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set: Books 4-6)

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “They are still people!” Lucas snapped.

  Torsten scowled at him. But upon realizing how agitated Lucas was, his features softened. He couldn’t expect a man so young and idealistic to maintain composure in such a situation. Another reason to give all Shieldsmen masks.

  “I think what Sir Danvels is trying to say is that if we can save them, we have to try,” Torsten said.

  “That will not be up to me,” Tingur replied. Then he pointed toward the Boiling Keep and said, “That’s up to her.”

  He stopped at the base of stairs at the end of the city’s main avenue. Gilded statues of zhulong stood proud on either side of it, their tusks encrusted with bands of flawless gems. It sliced up through a series of escarpments, leading into the colonnade of the domed Palace. Detailed murals were painted on the riser of every step, detailing the history of their people, faded from centuries out in the hot southern sun.

  “What is she like?” Torsten asked.

  Tingur chortled. “Oh, Sir Unger, you are about to find out. In the short time I’ve known her, she’s managed to surprise me more than any one of my wives, living or dead. If only I’d been here to watch her scrape the history off the heads of so many afhems.” He leaned in and whispered. “Don’t repeat this, but we damn well had it coming.”

  “I’m not surprised. Muskigo was a brilliant tactician, coming up with that. He took away what made you all special, and with it the pride that ravaged these lands. I’m amazed Liam never thought of it.”

  “Muskigo?” Tingur patted Torsten on the back. “No, my new friend. In this matter, Muskigo was a victim, same as the rest of us. That idea was all our new Caleef’s.”

  Tingur used his weapon to push off and start up the stairs. Torsten regarded Lucas, and both their brows furrowed with concern. When Torsten had learned about the erasure of the afhemates, the act had Muskigo written all over it. Now, as he took the first step, his anxiety returned in full vigor.

  He’d never climbed to the Boiling Keep; only guarded the bottom of the steps while Sidar Rakun officialized his surrender to Liam. Even he had to admit—the views from the upper bluff were incredible. The low dusk sunlight splintered across an endless field of foaming waves stretching out toward an ever-shifting horizon.

  The salty vapor on the air was welcome. It reminded him of being back home in Dockside. It felt like ages since he’d been there, ready to set off and defeat Mak and end a war, only now to find himself prepared to fight a bigger one.

  Serpent Guards permitted them into a square courtyard beyond the outer gates. Tall blackwood trees tickled the sky, casting thin shadows. The inner doors were closed, and a crowd of confused and angry people stood just outside. Important looking people.—former afhems, Shieldsmen, Lord Jolly, and even Dellbar the Holy himself.

  “What is everyone doing out here?” Tingur asked, rubbing his belly. “I’m starved.”

  “Lord Unger, you’ve returned,” Lord Jolly exclaimed. He strode over, then struck his chest with his one remaining hand.

  Sir Mulliner did the same, muttering, “Sir Unger.”

  Neither looked pleased to see him. And Dellbar remained leaning against a far column, his lips moving slightly like he was muttering to himself. He didn’t even notice their arrival.

  “Bit’rudam, what is this?” Tingur asked a younger Shesaitju. He was dressed in full Serpent Guard armor, but without the helmet or mask like the others, and apparently, he still retained his tongue as well.

  “The King and future Queen have locked themselves in there. Alone.” There was no mistaking the revulsion in his tone.

  And Torsten couldn’t help but feel that same way. The last thing he’d hoped for was this Caleef Mahraveh getting a chance to manipulate Pi on her own.

  IX

  The Caleef

  Blessed be this feast and the One who brings forth bread from the earth, in the name Iam, Light of our world,” Dellbar the Holy said, spreading his arms over the banquet that had been laid out in the palatial throne room.

  Mahi watched him. Heavy bags hung from his blinded eyes above an unkempt beard that grew wiry on gaunt cheeks. This priest looked drained and utterly exhausted. Even his voice was hoarse and barely projected.

  Tingur told her what had happened to him. That, apparently, his god, Iam, had possessed his body to drive Nesilia away.

  “May His Vigilant Eye watch over us,” Dellbar went on. He then traced those dark circles with his fingers and bowed his head. King Pi and all the Shieldsmen seated at the smaller tables behind him did the same.

  Then, Dellbar lifted his cane, and the blind High Priest shuffled back to a seat alone in the corner of the room. Mahi watched him plop down hard, then slide his plate away before leaning back.

  He ate nothing. Drank nothing. Said nothing.

  At the same time, the palace sages prayed to the God of Sand and Sea in Saitjuese. A nigh’jel was sacrificed, its black blood dripping down through the open Sea Door.

  “Eternal Current guide us,” they finished. The trusted Shesaitju warriors and former afhems seated behind Mahi repeated the same. She didn’t. She kept her eye on the young King of Glass and, seated directly across from her, he did the same to her.

  A private, circular table had been arranged over the Sea Door of her throne room, open in the center so as never to cover the spray and whistling wind. Palace servants carried in all manner of Shesaitju delicacies, platters resting on their heads.

  Their first course was a delectable rock crab curry—the very meal she shared with Jumaat on the day he was taken from her. Though it saddened her, no tears came. It was followed by broiled root mash and thick-cut zhulong ribs slathered in spices found only in the Black Sands. She didn’t think the young man would be able to handle the heat, but he did so with ease. He tried a bit of it all, yet never gorged himself. Even though he had to eat with his hands like a proper Black Sandsman, his movements were refined, noble in the way Glassmen thought they were.

  Mahi didn’t bother with such pleasantries. She ate how she’d learned to among her father’s warriors. Bones and plates clattered against the blackwood table. After every bite, she glanced up at her future husband, only to find him still silently eating as well.

  “Your Grace, how are you enjoying it?” Lord Jolly asked Pi, rising from his table to come to the King’s side.

  “It is a welcomed change,” Pi replied. “I believe I’ve had all the roast pheasant I can stomach.”

  His voice was soft but stern. Deeper than expected, too. Mahi studied him in detail. When he spoke, he maintained constant eye contact with his conversation partner, no matter who it might be. That alone spoke volumes of the man. He wasn’t like Babrak or any of the other snakes with shifty eyes. She noted the way his lips rose at the corners as he momentarily allowed his gaze to freeze on her. It seemed genuine. Though, she imagined Liam smiled before he bent Sidar Rakun’s knee as well.

  “A little too spicy for my blood,” Jolly whispered, not realizing how the wind from the Sea Door and the domed ceiling made his words carry.

  “Northern pis’trudas,” Bit’rudam murmured from his seat behind her, clearly having heard as well.

  “What was that, my Lord?” Lord Jolly asked.

  “Nothing.” He then grumbled in Saitjuese with the others at his table, and they all laughed. None of it was pleasant.

  “Well, we are honored to be here, breaking bread together after all this fighting,” Lord Jolly said.

  “There is nothing so soft as bread here,” a former afhem said.

  Lord Jolly grinned and nodded. “An expression.”

  “Bread would make this tolerable,” the scarred Shieldsman called Sir Mulliner said under his breath, again not used to the acoustics of the room, designed so the Caleef could never mistake any words of his advisors, nor they, the Caleef’s. The voice of the God of Sand and Sea would not go unheard.

  “So, would cutting out your tongue,” Bit’rudam said in Saitjuese before biting a chunk out of a b
ellot fruit.

  Mulliner glared. Though he clearly couldn’t understand the language, the tone was unmistakable.

  “My Lady Caleef, we agreed to all speak in one language here,” Lord Jolly said, folding his one arm behind his back. The other empty sleeve flapped in the gentle breeze.

  “And why don’t you know ours?” another afhem at Mahi’s back spoke up.

  “I do,” Pi said in Saitjuese. “And you are correct. Without a tongue, he would taste nothing.”

  Mahi’s finger slipped and crunched through the shell of the mollusk she was preparing to eat. The young King spoke with an awful accent, but his pronunciation was near perfect. He didn’t bother looking up this time either. Just continued eating, as if nobody should be surprised.

  “Your Grace, your studies have proven fruitful,” Lord Jolly said, lighting up like a proud father watching his baby walk for the first time.

  “Lord Jolly, our hosts have provided a feast in our honor,” Pi said. “You should go and enjoy it.”

  “No,” Mahi said.

  Lord Jolly took one step and stopped. His face scrunched.

  “Everybody out except King Pi,” Mahi said.

  “My Lady Caleef, I meant no disrespect,” Jolly said.

  “Out!” she bellowed, pounding down on the table. A bit of boiling hot tea splashed onto her arm. It should have scalded her. Instead, she felt nothing.

  The Shesaitju group at her back stood immediately. Most began marching out of the room, whispering questions, but Bit’rudam stopped at her side and lay his hand upon her shoulder momentarily, before reeling it back.

  “My Caleef, is something wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing is wrong,” she said. “I simply gave an order.”

  Bit’rudam stuttered over a response, but she glanced back at him and offered an assuring nod. He straightened his back, exhaled, then ordered the Serpent Guards arranged around the circumference of the room to leave.

  “You heard her. Out,” Pi said, as his people continued to loiter around in confusion. Lord Jolly bowed, and Sir Mulliner stirred the rest up. His scowl never left Mahi until he stood in the outer courtyard.

  “You too, Your Eminence,” Pi addressed Dellbar.

  By then, the High Priest was flat on his back on the lowest level of the stands wrapping the circular room. He groaned as he stood, cracked his back, then shuffled toward the exit as if the world wasn’t in danger of being swallowed by an angry goddess. He stopped in the doorway and turned to them. His eyes didn’t work, but Mahi felt like he could see them. Judge them.

  “Everything we know rests on your shoulders,” he said. Then, he turned his face toward the ceiling. “I hope You know what You’re doing.”

  At that, he backed out of the room. The last thing Mahi saw outside before the great doors slammed shut was Bit’rudam staring at her. His shoulders sank, eyes bulged, and he chewed his lower lip.

  Fully alone now, Pi cleared his throat, pulled a folded handkerchief from his pocket, and flapped it until it unfurled. After a quaint smile, he dabbed at the corners of his mouth.

  Just like Glassmen. Always prepared to get fat, Mahi thought.

  Out loud, she said, “Is eating always such a fanciful affair with you?”

  “Growing up in a castle, you get used to doing things a certain way,” he replied. Then, refolding the cloth once, he paused and, instead, let it fall onto the table in a clump. Mahi watched closely, unable to tell if it was an act of genuine rebellion against his upbringing, or if he was merely trying to please her.

  “This is the furthest you’ve ever been from home, yes?” she said in common.

  “It is,” he admitted, showing no sense of shame in it. Then in Saitjuese, he said, “The books don’t compare. The way the light catches the black dunes, shimmering on the rare white grains. It’s beautiful.”

  “You speak well.”

  “I’ve had too many teachers in the years I can remember.”

  Mahi grunted in acknowledgement. She understood that. Farhan, Impili, her father—they were all dead now. Shavi too.

  She scoured the food arrangement for the perfect bite, then ran a finger through the bowl of root mash and brought it to her lips.

  “They said you were worthless,” she said, sucking the last bits off her fingertip.

  Pi’s brow furrowed. She expected to see anger. That word would elicit ire in most men. They’d explain how that’s what she was, a woman desperate to be a warrior. To be everything she wasn’t meant to be.

  He remained unequivocally calm as he said, “Excuse me?”

  Mahi leaned over the table on her elbows. “The rumors from our spies in the west. Yuri Darkings. My father. They said you were short, scrawny, worthless, and a pale reflection of your legendary father. You’re certainly one of those things, but not all.”

  A few seconds went by in silence, and then Pi grinned. “Worthless?”

  Mahi cracked a smile as well without intending to. He’d caught her off guard, something she knew a good warrior should never be. But all the things she’d heard about him… about how he’d been a mad child scribbling on walls, or that he was quiet and damaged. He didn’t seem any of it.

  “Scrawny,” she clarified. “Though, I expected you to look younger.”

  “And I thought you’d be older,” he retorted. “The way the soldiers you defeated speak of you, perhaps with fangs, too. But rumors were my mother’s obsession. I’ve learned to trust only what I can see.”

  “I appreciate that.” Mahi shifted in her seat. “I suppose I should’ve known better than to trust Yuri Darkings.” She leaned forward more, where the wind and rumble of waves through the Sea Door were unmistakable. “He pushed me through that opening, did you know that?”

  Pi shook his head.

  “No warning at all,” she continued.

  “’Once a traitor, always a traitor,’” Pi said, inflecting like the words weren’t his own. Impressed upon him by some great Lord or one of his countless advisors, perhaps even his father, Mahi imagined. And he didn’t seem to believe them, which only made her sit up straighter. That someone his age might seek to form his own opinions, she had to admit, it was impressive.

  “Did you know Yuri?” she asked.

  “Barely. I wasn’t allowed in Royal Council meetings until Father died and by then… I wasn’t myself for a long time.”

  “You were sick, weren’t you?”

  “There is no need to be coy. I was possessed by Nesilia and servant to Redstar’s blood magic. It’s all unclear after…”

  “You died,” she finished for him, deciding to take his advice and not be coy.

  Pi swallowed audibly and sank back in his chair as he nodded, eyes shut, and a palpable wave of discomfort crossing his features. It was the first time she’d seen him display any sort of weakness. She thought she’d revel in it; in an opening that would allow her to twist and flex her control.

  Possessed, she thought instead. Forced into something he’d never asked for or wanted. She understood that better than most.

  “What was it like?” Mahi asked.

  Again, she’d expected him to object to her intrusion or at least display the slightest hesitation. But instead, he answered softly. “Quiet. Dark. Empty.”

  “And your god brought you back?”

  “So, they say.”

  “As did mine.” She pointed back toward the Sea Door. “After Yuri pushed me, I fell, hit the water, met my God, and the one trying to kill us all. Then, I woke up on a beach looking like this.” She gestured to her body, skin black as pitch unlike shades of gray like the rest of her people.

  “I’m… sorry,” Pi said.

  “For what? Yuri came to us and we took in a traitor. And yet, here you and I sit—a King, resurrected by his god. A Queen brought back by hers. Each of us, the last of our respective bloodlines.”

  That seemed to get the young King to perk up. “All our parents’ fighting over whose god is the true god,” he said. “How can
we say now? They’re either both powerful enough to bring us back from the dead or the same god by a different name.”

  “Your High Priest would choke if he heard you say that.”

  “He wouldn’t,” Pi said. “He’s… different. But Sir Unger might.”

  “Yet you believe it?”

  “I’m no warrior yet, and they don’t let me leave the castle much, but I’ve read many stories of history across Pantego. So many seem impossible, and yet, I see no reason why truth cannot be in all of them.”

  “Many of my own people think me a liar. They think my father fabricated all of this to make me Caleef.”

  “People like to doubt.”

  “Does this look fake?” Mahi lifted a knife from the table beside a bowl of fresh, yellow bellots. Without taking her eyes off Pi, she dragged it along her arm in a way that would scrape off paint or normal dried blood. She knew she shouldn’t show a potential enemy that she, the one chosen by the God of Sand and Sea to bear His power, could bleed. She did it anyway.

  Pi sat up, watching intently. He didn’t squirm at the sight of her fresh blood being drawn from her completely black skin. He only focused, like she did, on how, within the cut, there was no pink as there should’ve been. The dark coloration spread down through the layers of flesh. Part of her.

  “No, it does not,” he said.

  “At least you can remove a crown,” Mahi grumbled.

  At that, Pi lifted the Glass Crown off his head. He held it in front of his eyes, rotating it, so all the jewels cast light like a rainbow on the floor. Then, he dropped it unceremoniously onto the table.

  “Maybe it would be better if you couldn’t,” he said. “My father wore a different crown, not this one. The day he died, slumped over in his chair in the middle of a dinner quite like this, it rolled off his head. They say it was stolen. A story very few people know.”

  He was smart. Matching Mahi’s admission of weakness with one of his own.

  “Well, King Pi, as far as I’m concerned, it’s just jewelry,” she said. “A King, like an afhem, is only as worthy as the things he does. My father—“