The Deliverer

by Sharon Hinck

  “Let it speak to you,” she said.

  But I could barely look at it.

  The high priestess cupped my face in her hands and forced me to look into her onyx eyes. “You’ll have the honor of serving one of Zarek’s generals. Do whatever he tells you. Understand?”

  A deeply buried part of me recoiled in horror at the night ahead. Why? This was what I’d waited for. This was a shrine girl’s purpose.

  “Understand?” Her dark eyes filled my vision and her sour breath surrounded me. Bezreth communed with the hill-gods and held the power of life and death.

  I swallowed back the tremor in my throat. “I understand.”

  Chapter

  11

  Linette

  Rain. The rain didn’t change. Each afternoon water stippled against rock outside my window, splashed into puddles, and then dwindled to gentle drips. Cleansing, soothing. I always welcomed the sound. The rain brought a soft scent that briefly scrubbed away the undercurrent of sourness and decay in these underground chambers, scouring off the cloying sweetness of perfumes used throughout the shrine.

  But today, the comfort of rainfall was short-lived. The light in the small window deepened to a slate grey too soon. Near the mesh barrier penning me in, the hill-god statue sat on the floor. Bits of static occasionally crackled from the wires and arced toward the vicious face on the stone, as if the hill-god were drinking in the power.

  I struggled to muster my courage, but each time I looked at the carved image, I turned away. A shrine servant brought supper, but the fried bread stood untouched, along with the ceremonial goblet of lehkan blood.

  No wonder Bezreth had waited so long to choose me. Too fearful. Unworthy. Any other shrine girl would have been thrilled with the honor—and one of Zarek’s generals, no less. I smoothed the long white tunic I’d been given. The finely woven fabric felt odd against my skin, and I longed for a robe to cover my bare arms.

  Enough. Time to stop staring at the darkening patch of sky and embrace my purpose.

  With a steadying breath, I picked up the image and stared deeply into its face. The stone burned cold and empty against my skin. My muscles ached from holding it at arms’ length.

  Night advanced like the rock beetles that occasionally skittered across the cold floor of my room before disappearing into small crevices. If only I could follow them and hide.

  Before men fought and beetles stung . . .

  A wisp of melody came to mind, words emerging from some tiny cubby still unlatched.

  “There was a time,

  A time rich with days,

  Before sad and lonely songs were sung.

  “There was a day,

  A day rich with time,

  Before men fought and beetles stung.”

  I let the words flow, singing softly so the girls in the nearby pens wouldn’t hear. I lowered my hands, shifting my gaze from the snarling stone image back to the window. When had I sung those words before? How was I remembering them? I’d certainly not learned them here at the shrine. The progression of notes didn’t follow patterns like anything I’d heard in this place—not even the light reel that the unknown musician played in the distance every morning.

  Another thread of memory whispered through my mind. An old man leaning on his walking stick, saying, “Music helps us remember, Linette. That’s why the songs are so important.”

  Whoever he was, he must have been right. Though Bezreth told me I should have no memories from before my first day in the shrine, still the melody produced words, images, understanding.

  “Flowers bloomed in the pebbled sand;

  Ground-crawlers didn’t torment the land;

  The mist caressed like a mother’s hand

  In those days when the earth was young.

  “There comes a time,

  A time of new days,

  When new songs dance on our tongue.

  “There comes a day,

  A day after time,

  When all the battles will be won.

  “The mountain cat will sheath her claws,

  Rescued from the enemy’s jaws.

  We’ll sing the truth of the Deliverer’s laws

  And leave the mourning songs unsung.

  “Some day, One day,

  On the day of the One.

  “Clay pits no longer will swallow our dreams,

  No comrades fall amid battlefield screams.

  Music will flow in eternal streams,

  Like the days when the earth was young.

  “When new songs dance on our tongue,

  And the battles are all won . . .

  “Some day, One day,

  On the day of the One.”

  Something flared deep within me, a rekindling of passion once familiar. The One. He was the unseen companion I’d struggled to remember. No wonder I’d felt confused, haunted, tangled in darkness. I didn’t belong here. I belonged to Him.

  The image in my hands leered at me.

  With all my feeble strength, I flung the stone against the corner of the room. The harsh clang jarred the air. Not a single chip broke loose, but my fear of the lifeless image shattered.

  I would never serve the hill-gods. I still had no clear memories before coming here, no conviction about who I’d been. But I couldn’t do what Bezreth commanded.

  At that moment, heavy footsteps moved down the hallway. Doors slid aside. Men’s voices growled.

  My heart pounded and roared in my ears. My fists clenched. Not now. Not when I know the truth.

  Panicked, I reached for the mesh door. The surge of electricity sizzled and slapped me back, sending me stumbling onto my pallet. Would I survive if I threw my entire body against the wires? Would that be a better option than what Bezreth had planned for me?

  “Holy One, deliver me.” As soon as the words escaped my lips, a doubt seized my stomach. Were ordinary people allowed to speak directly to the One? These past weeks I’d been taught that no one would dare approach the hill-gods unless Bezreth bestowed a stone image on them. Only Bezreth survived true conversation with the spirits inhabiting the shrine. But what about the One? I ached to remember, ached to fight through the fog and grasp truth. “Forgive me if this is wrong, but if You are the One who was before time,” I whispered, “I know You can hear me. Please give me strength.”

  I held my breath. Few men ventured down to the far end of this hall. We were the least worthy, the newest arrivals.

  Tonight as doors slipped open and closed, footsteps moved rapidly past all the other doors toward my room. I backed against the far wall, a fist of dread squeezing my throat. I would explain that I didn’t belong here. I would reason. I would beg. I would fight. But I wouldn’t surrender.

  A figure in military dress stopped outside my door. “This one,” he barked. The faceplate of his helmet hid his features, but his eyes burned in the dim light.

  An accompanying shrine slave worked the lock and lever. The door slid open.

  The man advanced and reached toward me. My plans to reason or beg flew from my mind. I screamed.

  Even as the sound rushed from my throat, I realized my foolishness. No one ever came to the rescue of a shrine girl screaming in the night.

  He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the open door. “Let’s go.”

  I clawed at his arm, kicked, broke free, and looked wildly around the room. He blocked my path to the door. Holy One, save me or kill me. Don’t let this happen.

  He rubbed the arm I had scratched as if it were nothing more than a beetle’s bite.

  The burly slave hovered in the hall. “Having trouble?”

  The soldier in my cell growled. “I’ll handle this. You’re dismissed.”

  With a shrug, the man lumbered away. I wanted to dissolve into the rough wall behind me. I crouched lower, and m
y hand found the goblet of lehkan blood.

  The general grabbed at me.

  Launching forward, I swung the goblet in an arc that sprayed blood across the walls and struck the side of his head.

  He stumbled away and blasted out some curses I didn’t remember hearing before, even among the guards that worked beneath the shrine.

  I dodged around him and out the door.

  But I hadn’t hit him hard enough. Steel-banded arms grasped my waist and pulled me back. I writhed, drove my elbow back, and struggled with desperate gasps of breath. I smelled the salty tang of his skin, the earthy scent of leather, and the sour remnants of lehkan blood.

  “Stop!” He whirled me around to face him.

  I squared my chin. “Let go of me.”

  To my shock, he released me. I quickly edged back as far as the small cell allowed. He advanced a step, his helmet streaked with lehkan blood, making his blazing eyes even more terrifying.

  His jaw tightened. “We don’t have much time . . .”

  All the better. Maybe I would be able to fight long enough for him to give up. Then I read the determination in his eyes, and my stomach clenched.

  He reached for me again.

  As soon as he touched me, I exploded into motion. Kicking, scratching, pounding against his leather armor. His limbs were hard as the stone walls.

  His fingers dug into my arms. He shook me hard, making my teeth clack and my head snap painfully. “What’s wrong with you? You’re coming with me.”

  My ears rang. The bones of my neck ached. I gulped in a shaky breath. I had been praying for a way to escape. Leaving here could bring me one step closer to that goal. Just buy some time. Go along until you’re out of this place and can run.

  I stopped straining away and stared at the floor, a compliant shrine girl. “I’m sorry. I was told we would stay here. All right. I’ll come with you.”

  His hand manacled my arm as he led me to the door. He leaned out and checked the hall. Odd. Who was he trying to avoid? Bezreth had myriad rules, and it was rare for men to take shrine girls from their rooms, but I couldn’t imagine a general worrying about rules.

  He lunged from the room, dragging me behind him. I struggled to keep up with his long strides as he whisked us past the other rooms, where dark shapes moved in the shadows. By the time we reached the end of the hall, I had to run to match his pace.

  We reached a set of jagged stairs. Ria had once pointed out the foot of these stairs because they led to the main palace and the king’s chambers. The man propelled me upward in front of him without speaking. When we reached the top, a hall branched off in three passages. I searched my memory. Had I been here before? Nothing looked familiar.

  My throat tightened so much my breath escaped in a whistle. “Wait.”

  “Now what?” He stopped, but his gaze kept moving, scanning the hall in each direction.

  “Are you Zarek? Or are you taking me to him?”

  He let go of me as if his fingers had been scorched. His eyes turned even harder than when I’d fought him in the cell or hit him with the goblet. “The king? No.” He tore the helmet from his head, revealing dark hair spiked with sweat and a scar puckering a line of skin over one brow. “Something wrong with your eyes?”

  Humiliation, my constant companion these past days, forced my gaze to the floor. “Forgive me. I can’t remember anything before I came to the shrine. I thought you might be taking me to the king.”

  While one part of me strove to keep a conversation going, beneath my down-swept lashes, I quickly scanned the halls, the doors, searching for the best means of escape.

  The general settled his helmet back on his head. “Sorry to disappoint you. This way.” He gripped my arm with barely leashed anger.

  What had I done now? There was no time to think about it as he urged me into a run down one hall, and around a zagging turn that forced us in the opposite direction for a few yards. Tapestries and stone walls passed in a blur. He dragged me at a pace that made my ribs heave for air.

  The corridor angled again and revealed a long straight hall with doors framed by two armed guards.

  He tightened his grip on me. “Don’t make a sound. Understand?”

  I managed a nod.

  “Open it,” he ordered the guards as we approached. Seeing his high-ranking uniform, they snapped to attention. One of the soldiers slid a lever, and the door skimmed open a heartbeat before we reached it.

  The general didn’t even pause. We passed through and into a broad courtyard. I tilted my neck to catch a glimpse of the black sky—so much wider than the small piece I had seen from my basement cell every night.

  Still he didn’t stop. We passed a fountain, through massive carved doors, and into a spacious plaza. Light panels as tall as houses cast a harsh illumination over a melee of people and animals shoving their way past booths and open storefronts.

  Where was he taking me? Perhaps Zarek’s generals had private homes outside the main barracks of the palace. Did it matter? Wherever he planned to take me, I needed to escape before we reached his destination.

  We wove around milling people and past stalls. Under the glare of the outdoor lightwalls, vendors sold a dizzying array of goods in the center of the square. The mixture of scents overwhelmed me. Burnt caradoc meat, sickly sweet perfumes, and most pervasive of all, the sour smell of fermented orberry wine.

  Shoppers cast curious glances toward us but sidled quickly out of our way. The general pulled me through an alley and onto a dark and isolated side street. As the lights and sounds behind us dimmed, fear wrapped around me like the black cloak of the night sky.

  He paused to glance back at the empty street behind us. Seizing my chance, I flung myself toward the ground in a dead weight. He didn’t completely let go of me, but he was thrown off balance. I kicked out at his legs, then gasped as my foot bruised against his shin-guard. As I twisted my body, I managed to wrench my arm free, roll, spring up, and run.

  Another dark alley ahead beckoned me. Now I exploded forward and ran with every fragment of strength pent up in my body during weeks of captivity. Nothing else mattered. Only each pounding step. Only each breath I could gasp while I was still free, still whole.

  But over the throb of my pulse, the sound of his pursuit advanced every bit as fast. I tore out of the alley, around a corner, and down another dark corridor . . .

  And faced a solid wall.

  He was right behind me. I couldn’t turn back. I pressed my palms against the granite, as if I could coax the brick to part for me. The general pulled to a stop behind me. His breath heated the back of my neck. Every muscle in my body clenched.

  Summoning a last shred of courage, I turned to face him.

  Once again he pulled off his helmet and this time tossed it aside.

  My pulse throbbed under my jaw. Holy One, please, please save me.

  He raked a hand through his short hair. In the pale cast-off light from the square, it almost looked like the edge of his mouth twitched upward. “I really didn’t expect you to be this difficult.” He was barely out of breath.

  My lungs continued to fight for air, panting, exhausted. Heat and cold ran through my veins. The drugs from the armband surged through my body and reasserted their control. Beyond weary, I sagged against the wall. Would he kill me? I couldn’t run, couldn’t fight. I had lost. I was lost.

  “Just for future reference,” he said, “if you’re trying to escape, don’t run down a blind alley.”

  The mocking tone should have ignited irritation, but that would have taken energy I didn’t have to spare. Dull fear pulsed through me. He had paid a good tribute to Bezreth. I was his tonight. And I didn’t have the wits or the strength to get away.

  I closed my eyes. Holy One, deliver me. Holy One, deliver me. My lips moved silently.

  He gave a heavy sigh. “We don’t have t
ime for this. You can’t keep fighting me.” He put a hand on my shoulder, and I flinched.

  His hand stayed, unmoving but gentle. “Linette, it’s me. You have to remember.”

  My eyes shot open. “I knew you?”

  I studied him—the eyes that smoldered with an unreadable emotion, the angled planes of his face, the dark stubble of his jaw. Nothing connected. I shook my head. He thought I should know him, yet I didn’t, and that added to the terror that roiled in my stomach. Still, I wouldn’t cower. I met his eyes. “Who are you? When did I know you?”

  His shoulders sank, and he backed up a step, giving me room to breathe. “Linette, I’m Kieran.”

  “Kieran?” The name rolled around like a pebble between my palms and dropped away. It meant nothing.

  “You came with me to Hazor.” Sadness mingled with regret in his voice.

  Perhaps this was just a game he played.

  Or a trick. A test to see if I had really broken with my past.

  Had he heard my murmured prayers? Would he report to Bezreth that I wasn’t faithful to the shrine-gods? A cold dread gripped my bones. “I don’t know you.”

  He stared hard into my eyes. “Caradung. What did she—” He snatched my arm, stared at the wide bracelet, and swore again. In a swift, remorseless move, he pried the band from my wrist and threw it to the ground.

  “No!” I dropped to my knees and scrambled for the band, clutching it in desperate fingers. Without it, I’d die. Was there still enough medicine for me to survive another day?

  I braced my hand on the wall behind me and stumbled to my feet, suddenly aware of the flaw in my escape plan. I had to do more than get away from this soldier. I needed a supply of drug patches. “Please. Just take me back to Bezreth.”

  His eyebrows slanted as he scowled. “What are you talking about?”

  “You have to take me back.”

  “Don’t be stupid. I’m getting you out of Hazor. You aren’t going back there.”