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. Those 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 amongst the faithful. They chanted in unison:
“Havah ilz avah Haizzem!”
“Havah ilz avah Haizzem!”
“Havah ilz avah Haizzem!”
Chapter 4: 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, my Haizzem, 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. Maybe they will soon.”
“Only in my nightmares.” Caio winked. “At least I’m blessed to have good company with me.”
“We need to 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 refreshing 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 from me?” 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 as Dux Spiritus.”
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—”
“Then that’s a big problem. You are our Haizzem. You are our Dux Spiritus. You must lead us to victory.”
“And 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’s the way it is. 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 rece
ive 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, and 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. “Caio, 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 enough, 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 Remaes, 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 5: 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, even though it was only a dream.
“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!”
The Black God's War Page 3
