“Narayani,” he moved his hand gently across her warm back, “We need to get up. They are coming.”
She sat up, startled, then her eyes settled into a caring mood. “You made me dream it, Rao.”
“I didn’t cause it, but I dreamed it, too.”
The marching footsteps grew louder until a strong voice shattered the peace: “Rajah Devak has come to speak with you.”
Narayani kissed him, leading to a long kiss that reminded him of all of their nights of passion.
“Prince Rao?”
He pressed Narayani’s chest against his own.
“Master Rao, are you there?”
Eventually he broke away. “Yes. Tell my father I will meet him in his chamber soon.”
“Very well, my Prince.”
Rao’s father was leaning against the front of his desk when Rao entered the chamber. The Rajah wasn’t sitting calmly or reading reports. He wasn’t staring out the window. His father was staring at the door.
Right away, Devak made long strides toward him and wrapped his heavy arms around him. The rajah’s chest felt like a rock wall against Rao’s body and face. The old man had a human scent all his own, a smell Rao remembered from his youth, mingled with a musty odor from his battle uniform. It was strange, his father touching him. It could have been awkward—it was the only such intimacy Rao could remember—but it was more than a temporary refuge. The moment was a vehicle for a transcendent ecstasy, a bliss felt throughout Rao’s being that assured him he could die knowing that he and his father had at least once expressed their love for each other.
“Come,” his father said before breaking off contact and leading Rao across the room to the table against the opposite wall. “I’m sorry circumstances haven’t allowed us to spend more time together.”
“Me too.” Rao felt like he was ten years old again, watching his father set off for the canyon with his monstrous army.
“Whatever happens, I’m proud of you. You are risking a charmed life with a beautiful woman. Because of this, our people already admire and respect you.”
“You’ve been a good father.”
His father expelled a puff of air in disbelief and his chest heaved with a brief laugh. “That’s rubbish. You’ve turned into a good man despite me. By the way, you did a really stupid thing, leaving here.”
Rao glanced down at the dark wood table. The surface looked as though it had been carved into at random places over the course of the war with a knife. “I feel good now. I’ve had just enough time to heal.”
The rajah seemed to be struggling to find words. “Good.” His father’s face was so busy with pits and scars, but Rao focused on his emotionless eyes.
“You killed his protector,” his father said. “We’ve confirmed it.”
“Damn. That’s what I thought.”
“What do you think this will mean for you today?”
“It’s possible it could help me. My opponent might be too upset or angry to focus.”
“Anger is a good emotion, Rao, and it’s essential when you’re battling for your life. For a Rezzian praying to his gods, anger is the perfect emotion.”
I’m afraid you’re right.
“I’m going to tell you something now, something I had always intended to tell you. You deserve to know and now you need to know it. You need to match their Haizzem’s passion.”
Rao felt his chest tightening in anticipation. “Passion and anger may benefit a praying man, but it does not benefit a sage.”
“Don’t argue with me again.” His father waited for agreement, continuing his empty stare.
“Yes, Father.”
“King Vieri ordered the killing of your mother and your brothers. He ordered your killing, too.”
Rao scrambled mentally, wondering how he should feel. Vengeful? Sad? Empty? Detached?
“We captured one of the assassins and found out as much as we could. Your mother hid you under her chair when it began. They were in the western section of the palace in a room that was built for you and your brothers. It was full of toys. The Rezzians hid in a closet. Your brothers were killed first and as far as I know your mother saw it done. They cut her straight across her throat.” The painting of his mother still hung behind his father’s desk. “There were two of them. Our guards quickly put them down, but too late.”
Rao walked over to the window and placed his hands on its ancient stone. He looked down on the square formations of troops within the citadel, then to the east where Rezzia began. The scene played out vividly in Rao’s mind. His father had given too many details.
“Where?” Rao asked. The location was an unimportant detail. Something for Rao to distract himself with while he tried to make sense of everything. Rao heard his father coming up behind him and then felt his hand on his shoulder.
“A room in the long hallway along the northwest of the palace. Rao, King Vieri won’t rest until you and I are dead. This is something you need to fear until the day he dies.”
“I am glad to know the truth. The timing is … hard.” And either terrible or great.
“You have the chance to fight the son of the man who killed three members of your family. Focus on your rage. You deserve to live a long and happy life, one much better than mine. I must ask you to do this for me, Son. Avenge their deaths. Kill the Haizzem.”
Chapter 53: Surrendering to Revelation
CAIO’S BED WAS A BITTER COMPANION. He slept only for brief stretches, rolling under the covers, unable to shield himself from the talons of memory. Images of the last three days kept smashing their way past the sentries of his consciousness. Ilario alive and warning him … Sansone’s hulking form closing Ilario’s eyelids … Lucia being attacked through moonlit mist … black horses moving at divine command … Ilario’s body slumped over horseback … his military burial.
Dim light began to invade the fabric around Caio’s yurt. He dreaded the sun. He looked sideways at Ilario’s empty bed. There was no breathing in the room but his own shallow breaths, not even shuffling or mumbling from the soldiers outside. Only suffocating silence.
He sat with his feet dangling off the edge of the bed, rubbing his cool face with both hands. He eyed his altar behind him and recoiled, looking down at the black and red Satrinian rug instead.
Why is it so hard to motivate myself? Is it a bad omen?
He slid around the bed until he faced the altar some ten feet away. As he glimpsed The Book of Time, he smelled sweet myrrha, the scent even stronger than a few days ago.
“You bring me to this state, and now you want me to transmit your prophecy?” He spoke quietly so that only the gods could hear him. “Now that you’ve broken me down?”
He felt too tired to stand, too tired to pray. A red and black image of Lucia flashed across his vision and burning knots tightened inside his chest. Of all the things that pained him, Lucia’s suffering hurt the most. That he couldn’t feel her pain with her only made it worse.
“I am sure you have your reasons and I strive to accept them, whatever they are. Reasons why you would take a great man and ruin two other lives at the same time. Why you would let the Pawelons follow us all that way, or find us in such a remote place. Why you would let them hunt my sister, bash her face, and again threaten her life. I am not strong enough to understand your reasons.”
He ran his left hand forcefully down the side of his face, then pressed it into and around his neck. He surprised himself by standing suddenly and walking over to the altar. He lifted Oderigo’s holy text and removed the vines. He prayed for a message from his god, opened The Book, and read:
Though man does not see it, and though he doubts, always the gods act in concert. The will of one is the will of the ten. If one has a purpose, the nine give support, often imperceptibly and surprisingly. The Ten are always mysterious, but always act with intent. With wisdom, man will come to appreciate and trust in the ways of Lux Lucis.
He held the ancient book with two hands and felt the edges of its
crumbling pages with his fingertips. He closed his eyes and squeezed the book. Squeezed it harder. Harder.
He spun around and threw the book across the room with all his strength and watched its delicate binding crash against the wall.
His mind filled with the smell of hot myrrha.
Chapter 54: The Power of Prophecy
HOT WINDS BLEW through Rezzia’s camp like the breaths of a god, flinging Lucia’s hair around her face. She hurried with her protectors toward the temple, a spacious white tent at the center of the encampment. Five stone pillars supported it, the tallest one at the structure’s center with the other four pillars holding up its corners. Caio’s duel loomed.
She was late to the special ceremony Caio had called for earlier that morning. The event was known as an Ayot, a gathering for revelation to be added to The Book of Time. Only royal patrons of Lord Oderigo could call for such a ceremony. Caio had never transmitted Lord Oderigo’s prophecy before.
As Lucia approached the central entrance, ten bald warpriests prayed in the old tongue and sprinkled holy water over her. Cream tassels flapped against the tent. Her guards stepped aside and she entered the temple alone.
Upon her entrance, the highest-ranking warpriest stood and called for the men to kneel and bow in prayer. Sweet, smoky incense and myrrha filled the hall.
“Havah ilz avah Haizzem!”
Lucia shared the hall with more than a thousand of Rezzia’s most powerful men. She stayed back and performed the prayers, waiting until the opening ritual finished before walking down the wide aisle to sit beside her father. Her father kept his gaze on her from the time she entered the aisle until she sat next to him. His austere eyes relayed his disappointment at her tardiness.
Look all you want. I’m not the one sacrificing my son to the pigs.
Her father’s most powerful nobles and leaders sat all around her, but she chose not to look at them. She didn’t want to remember how many he’d tried to marry her off to, nor did she wish to see the faces of any men she would be pressured to wed.
Caio wore his prized Haizzem cremos and sat tall in a white ceremonial throne. The divine words stitched into his robe shined with a golden brilliance. He glanced solemnly downward. A few moments after Lucia sat, he began:
“The gods, my brothers, act as one. Those who believe in them know they are gracious and merciful. We worship them alone. They give us their grace and keep us on the straight path.”
Caio paused and let the words simmer. With only the sound of the wind beating against the canvas tent, the warm room overflowed with faith and melancholy. A long silence followed.
“The true religion belongs to the gods of Lux Lucis.”
The silence itself became hot, a penetrating field of religious devotion. Lucia felt a holy presence around her, calming her mind, and her resistance to Caio’s prophecy lessened.
“According to Lord Oderigo’s will and direction, I transmit his living prophecy to you. This scripture shall be recorded and maintained within The Book of Time. Lord Oderigo called me to him three days ago with the scent of his myrrha.”
He closed his eyes and sat calmly. The warpriest scribe readied his quill and prepared to transcribe Caio’s words into The Book. The crowd bathed again in the holy atmosphere. Finally, the Haizzem began to speak in a powerful voice with an accent not entirely his own, channeling the god’s prophecy.
“The enemies of Truth are persistent. They are many. They must be opposed with the greatest vigilance. Those who know wage a war against those who are blind. Those who believe and submit to the way of peace will be those who bring the will of The Ten to all men. This is your highest duty.
“The gods of Lux Lucis have powers great, but do not forgive those who forget them. The gods cannot. In their adamancy they are merciful. They call each believer to spiritual warfare, the highest calling. Men of faith must stand together in community, in strength. They pave the way for a perfect world.”
Lucia felt hemmed in by the crowd and discomfited by the uncharacteristic words coming from her brother.
“Men of wisdom surrender to the gods of Lux Lucis, for without them men are literally nothing. All that has been corrupted and made vile can be healed only through the truth. So it is.
“Many thousands of years ago, when Gallea was barren, men were created by gods and scattered across the lands. Only one people, the people of Rezzia, were chosen by the divinities of Lux Lucis. The eternal Truth has been transmitted to you, the righteous given the task of preserving the prophecies through the centuries. You will always be protected by the gods and by the Haizzem the gods send to protect you and lead you to spiritual victory.
“The gods also call men to wisdom, for ignorance will not absolve men of dishonorable actions. What is given will be received. What is inflicted will be felt. What is ignored will be brought back. And bitter fruits, if resisted, will remain to rot and fester.
“You, men, are called to struggle and to strive to create a society where goodness prevails, to recognize the true limitations of other races of men, for only by addressing their weaknesses does real change becomes possible. Only then will Gallea become a perfect home where the gods can once again walk freely and openly among men.
“The gods are great. The gods are great. The gods are great.
“He who dies for them attains perfection.”
Caio’s head dropped as if he’d fallen asleep and the worshipers knelt and leaned forward. Lucia prayed with them, unsettled emotionally but unwilling to question the prophecy with her father beside her.
Caio’s head rose with a deep breath into his nostrils. With one motion, he stood and stretched his arms out to his sides. The men surged forward for a chance to receive the Haizzem’s grace before his combat.
Lucia stood and pulled her arms close to her body as the men crowded around her. Her father stood still beside her, gazing at Caio. She soon felt her father’s eyes.
He who dies for them attains perfection. Is that what you would see, Father? Could you stand by and watch that?
“Lucia,” her father spoke quietly in deep tones, as if his voice was raw, “Lord Oderigo has spoken through your brother. We must withhold our judgment until his combat is finished.”
How convenient.
Still facing Caio and the crowd around him, she turned only her head to look at her father’s face.
“Imagine the possibilities with his victory,” he said, his face regaining its color and vitality. “Possibilities inspired by The God of Prophecy himself. I request your presence beside me during the battle. When your brother is victorious, I want to celebrate his triumph with you.”
And I am sure you want to keep your eyes on me.
“I consent, father, for this reason. If anything terrible happens to Caio, I want to see the remorse on your face.”
Without answering, he made his way forward through the crowd. As the others saw him, they stepped aside and allowed him to approach his son. Father and son embraced. Lucia stood on the bench to have a clearer view of her father’s sobbing.
Caio held his father with his hands behind the man’s heart. They rested their heads on each other’s shoulders and everyone in the temple seemed to be observing their tender connection.
As they began to separate, Vieri said to Caio, “Remember all whom you are saving. Remember your duty compels you to serve the people of Rezzia.”
Caio did not answer, but pulled his father’s face against his own and kissed one of his cheeks.
King Vieri made his exit down the central aisle and other men soon flocked around him. He looked back at Lucia and their eyes met for one expressionless exchange.
Lucia sat on one of the benches in the middle of the temple, watching Caio and waiting for all of the men to leave the hall. She wanted to be the last to approach him.
Once the hall emptied, she approached him alone.
“You’ve given up on everything you believed in, everything we once agreed on. Caio, where is my brother?”
Caio’s countenance shifted from austerity to uncertainty. “Lord Oderigo’s words are not my own! Who am I to question a god?”
Lucia stopped two feet in front of Caio. “Is it a coincidence that as you deal with Ilario’s death, the god speaks through you those words of vengeance?”
“You’ve read The Book of Time. Oderigo has many moods, and righteousness is one of them. He came through me.”
“How can you be sure? You are not yourself.”
“I can’t help that the gods have changed me. Clearly, I do not control my own destiny.”
“But you can fight back. You have free will. You have your own mind. Lord Danato sent us to the lake to see Ilario die. He did this to us. Don’t let him win.”
“It’s too late. We went to Danato because there was no other solution. Now we must follow his will. He has already punished us.” Caio’s eyes pleaded, shining like pearls. “Now he can help us.”
“You think he won’t punish us again? He has no sense of mercy. I would know! Look at yourself, Caio. He has already changed you. He hasn’t killed you yet and already, Caio, you are dead. What is left of my beautiful brother?” Lucia ran her gloved hands down her face, trying to collect herself.
“I am accepting my responsibility. That is all. I am the Dux Spiritus. I accept that I have a role, a role you encouraged me to grow into. I’m embracing my duty.”
“Which is what?”
“To struggle to create a society where goodness prevails. To see the realities of other races of men, so that we can address them and make this world a perfect one where the gods can once again walk freely among us. The gods keep us on the straight path and lead us to spiritual victory. Theirs is the way of peace.”
“What happened to real peace? To healing? To love? I’ve known you all your life. Those are your true beliefs.”
Caio shook his head in resignation. “I can’t win. When I don’t want to fight, I’m a child. When I meet my duty, I am not myself. You have to accept that I have changed. I am doing what our people need me to do and I am doing what our very gods have led me to do.” Caio’s voice softened as he said, “I am also doing what Ilario would have wanted.”
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