Gambit of the Gods

by Ashley, Angela

  These words pricked my father’s pride, he admitted to me when he told me the story. How dare she think he could possibly be afraid of her? She was tall and beautiful, with the proud carriage of a queen, but she had no visible weapons.

  So he stepped out from among the trees. They stood staring at one another with the stream between them. Then the woman began to speak, in a low, soothing, lilting tone. Her words were strangely accented, but he could understand her. She told him that she was First Daughter of one of the Eleven Great Houses of the Queensrealm. Her house served the Goddess of Death, helping those who are dying pass painlessly into the next life. When he remained silent but moved nearer, enchanted by her voice, she told him she went riding alone sometimes to put behind her the suffering of those she helped ease into death. Then she asked my father if he was hungry.

  He nodded before he could catch himself. She beckoned to him, and he found himself crossing the small stream, seating himself next to her on the flattened grass under a spreading tree. They shared a meal together, and this became their frequent meeting place.

  In the days that followed, my father found himself sharing details about himself and life among the People with the woman from the Queensrealm that he would never have considered telling an Outsider before he met her. They laughed together, and eventually, they shared one another’s sorrows as well. That summer was a particularly harsh one for the People. Several of the weakest among us died from extreme heat and a lack of fresh water. Meanwhile, her mother’s health was failing, and it fell to her, as the eldest daughter, to watch her slip away. Their time together became a comfort to them both, an oasis from suffering.

  Then one day, my father waited in their usual meeting place and went away disappointed. This happened for several days together. My father feared the worst. He waited as long as he dared one final day, and at last, as daylight began to dim, he saw her come riding toward him. He stood there, waiting, wondering at how quickly his heart was beating. Her horse pulled up in front of him and she threw herself off and into his arms, sobbing. Between ragged breaths, she whispered that her mother had passed on that very day, and she felt so alone.

  My father sat her down and held her as she cried. She clung to him, her sobs eventually quieting. When she at last drew back to look at him, he kissed away her tears, moved by her beauty and her sorrow.

  She gazed at him a moment. Slowly, their mouths found each other, like a falling stone must come to earth. They kissed as if they might die without the other’s lips on theirs, drinking deeply of one another. At last, they undressed each other and lay together, turning their shared grief into great joy, crying out together in their lovemaking beneath the stars.

  And so I was conceived, on the day my great-mother passed from the earth. When my mother realized she was pregnant a fortnight later, fear filled her. Queensrealm Ladies enslave their men, only mating with them in the mating temples of the Goddess of Love, where strict records are kept of their couplings. Couplings that will result in issue must first be approved by the Eleven to avoid crossbreeding. My mother knew she could not get herself approved in time, for her pregnancy would soon show, putting her unborn child in certain danger.

  My father, when she told him, asked her to run away with him, though he didn’t know what the Elders would think of welcoming an Outsider. But my mother told him that if she disappeared, her people would ride out in search of her, placing him and his people at risk of war. My father was ready to risk all for her, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Instead, she told him her plan.

  My mother had petitioned the Eleven (or rather, the other Ten, since with her mother’s passing, she became one of the Eleven herself) to allow her to travel to Civitas Dei. There, she would ask the Children of God to send some of their healers back with her to the Queensrealm. The illness her mother had died of was sweeping the queendom. Many of both high birth and low lay sick and dying. The Queensrealm had long distrusted, even hated, the Children of God because they worshipped the One True God instead of the eleven Queensrealm goddesses. But several of the Eleven had relatives and slaves who had contracted this illness, and another of the Eleven had fallen ill just the day before.

  The Eleven approved my mother’s petition. Shortly thereafter, she left the Queensrealm with slaves and supplies sufficient to make the long journey to Civitas Dei.

  When my mother and her caravan pulled up in front of the gates to the natural fortress encircled within the soaring peaks of Civitas Dei, she’d reached the last of her strength, Miklos told me. He was there at the city gates, and he, like my father, caught her in his arms as she near-fell from her horse. The slaves accompanying her thought she’d contracted the illness they sought help for, never suspecting the true nature of her condition. Miklos carried her inside the gates and straight to his own hearth. There, he laid her down, calling on the One True God for His healing power to be made manifest in him.

  I came into the world earlier than expected. Miklos’ healing ability saved my life, and that of my mother as well. With his help, she was ready to travel in a fortnight. I stayed behind in Civitas Dei with Miklos. He raised me as his own until my fifth summer, when Thunder Echo arrived to take me home with him. Miklos and Artan traveled with us to live with the People because by then, we were a family, and so we shall always remain.

  So when Miklos looks up at me now from the herbs he’s sorting, he looks as a father does. Even more so than my actual father does, in fact. I recognize care, concern, pride, and slight annoyance mirrored there in his eyes, shadowed under his heavy brow and long, iron-grey hair, pulled back from his face with a simple strip of dried sinew.

  Artan sits on his bed-furs cross-legged behind Miklos, reading one of the books we brought with us from Civitas Dei. He glances up when I enter, looking like a younger version of his father with his warm brown eyes, dark brows, and dark, tied-back hair. Artan raises those brows quizzically at me as if to say, “You’ve done it again, haven’t you?”, giving me a conspiratorial grin. I flash him a small smile in return, then go to embrace Miklos (carefully, for Naira still sleeps in my shirt pocket). This is no easy task, as Miklos towers over me. Well, he towers over everyone. It’s not unlike an ant hugging a bear.

  “You gave old Wind Whisper quite a scare, I’m told,” Miklos says after we let go of one another. He frowns. “When she lifted the lid of the cauldron…”

  He pauses. I suddenly realize he’s trying not to smile, and is failing. His laughter cracks like thunder. All three of us double over with it, picturing the frogs leaping out of the pot toward poor old Wind Whisper’s astonished, wrinkled face.

  At last, Miklos wipes his streaming eyes and clears his throat, the signal that it’s time for us to be serious again. There’s a quirk upward at one corner of his mouth, though. It makes me want to hug him again. His ready sense of humor is one of the things I love most about him.

  I say quickly, before he can scold me, “Spark and I promised Seeker that it was our last prank. We just wanted to have fun one more time, before…things change.”

  I look down, studying the floor, but not before I see the same look come into Miklos’ eyes that Seeker’s had. Pity. I scuff the floor with my boot, hating that look in my heart-father’s eyes, determined in that moment to replace it with anything else. Naira leaves my shoulder, running over to snuggle with Artan. If I am Naira’s mother, Artan is her father. He spoils her shamelessly.

  “I thought as much,” Miklos says. I see with relief when I glance back up that he means it. His opinion means more than anyone else’s to me. “I didn’t ask you here to berate you. I wanted to warn you about a dream I had last night.”

  Something about his look makes my body go cold all over. I reach out to the table, gripping it for support without realizing it.

  Miklos is unusual among his people. Occasionally, he has true dreams. He says it’s a gift from the One True God to help him protect us, but more than once I’ve heard him lament, “It’s more curse than blessing.”
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  “Sit down, little one,” he tells me gently. I slump into a chair, not taking my eyes from him. Artan slips in next to me, reaching out to rub my back in sympathy. Naira drowses in the crook of his other arm.

  Miklos hesitates, then begins to pace. He does this sometimes when he’s giving us special lessons, as if his brain is powered by his feet.

  “In my dream, I saw you walking in the forest. Shadows came, skulking after you, but you didn’t see them,” he explains. “Danger lurked all around you, and your life hung in the balance like a raindrop trembling from the tip of a leaf. I was far away, powerless and afraid. Then, I woke.”

  He stops pacing and turns to me, staring as if memorizing every detail. I feel tears pricking my eyes.

  “You’re my daughter,” he continues, his gravelly voice softening, “cherished more than you’ll ever know. I would gladly lay down my life if you would live because of it. So to see you in danger, knowing I can do nothing to help you…”

  Miklos has tears in his eyes, too. Looking tired, he sits down across from me.

  “But I can warn you. Be on your guard. Or better yet, wait a little while… don’t go on your Quest…”

  I’m already shaking my head sadly but firmly.

  “I must go. The Clan Elders ordained it,” I whisper. “I must not look weak by hanging back.”

  He nods, defeated.

  “Then tell me this,” he says, his tone resolute. “Have you had any sense of emotions that are not your own?”

  He’s asked me this before. But I don’t want my mother’s people’s gift. I always thought telempathy a strange, even invasive ability. Others’ emotions are a burden I’m not willing to carry. My own are difficult enough.

  “No.” My voice is sure, but something inside of me whispers, Am I lying to myself? Sometimes I think I know how others feel…but doesn’t everyone think that, sometimes?

  “I’d hoped it might help protect you from those with evil intent,” Miklos explains.

  He sighs, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. He doesn’t sleep well when he dreams of the future.

  “The first time I dreamed about you, I saw you in your mother’s womb a few days before you were born,” he says quietly. I prick my ears up. This is new information. “That’s why she found me outside the city gates the day she arrived—I was waiting for you. The One True God whispered in my dreams that you would need my help. He said, ‘She shall be a force for good in this world.’ I swore then to protect and help you in any way I could. Artan did as well, once he grew old enough to understand.”

  Surprised, I turn to look at Artan. He nods, his eyes serious.

  Miklos stands. With great emotion in his voice, he says, “Be well, my daughter, and may the Spirit guide you.”

  Artan rises as well, putting Naira down. His eyes unreadable, he repeats, “Be well, and may the Spirit guide you.”

  These are the ceremonial words given to one who is about to go on a Quest. Only a parent or Elder of the Clans may call a Quester ‘daughter’ or ‘son’, but it feels right coming from Miklos. He’s been my heart-father since I first drew breath.

  Artan embraces me quickly. Miklos hugs me once more, for a long moment, before letting me go.

  “I love you,” I tell them, giving them my brightest smile, attempting to dispel the sadness in the room. Pushing back the door flap, I step outside. It feels like someone is watching me, but when I look around, I’m alone.

  Chapter 3: Malyse

  I remember that day in the lab when everything changed for us. But only Kai and I know he dropped the beaker on purpose. What Kai doesn’t know is the real reason why I asked him to do it.

  Several days before he dropped the beaker, I lay in bed alone, having just kicked my current plaything out of bed and out the door. I was about to roll over and go to sleep when a shimmering mote appeared in the air above me, growing in size until the image of a winged woman floated there. She had long, black hair like mine, though her skin was darker, but her eyes…they mesmerized me, glowing like living mercury, with the wisdom of ages in their depths. Her dark, endless-seeming wings drifted behind her, drawing galaxies in and consuming them utterly. I held my breath, afraid and entranced. Am I dreaming? I wondered.

  She smiled. My heart overflowed with joy at the sight, as if all my cares faded in an instant. I sat up, unsure whether I should kneel or flee before this being. Not being the kneeling or fleeing type, I waited.

  The woman’s smile grew wider, in approval.

  “Malyse, I’ve been watching you a long while. I am the Dark Lady. You, among all humans, are the true daughter of my heart. I have a plan for your life, one that will make you powerful beyond your wildest imagination, giving you dominion over all others, while bringing about the revenge I’ve sought over many lifetimes. Does this sound like something that would interest you?”

  My heart swelled at her words, for she spoke aloud all my most secret desires.

  “What would I need to do in order to bring such miracles about, Dark Lady?”

  Her perfect face grew serious. My heart quailed a moment—had my question displeased her? But then, I felt what I can only describe as a caress inside my mind that left me shivering in ecstatic pleasure. Seeing my reaction, the Lady’s smile returned.

  “All you must do for now, my daughter, is convince Kai to drop a certain beaker.”

  I gulped in sudden understanding, already nodding in agreement. She went on, explaining her plan.

  No doubt you’re judging me right now, thinking about all the lives lost to the plague. But I don’t care about your unambitious opinions. If you want to change the world, some must die. If you want to rise higher, some must fall.

  It’s the same way in the animal kingdom. I’m a predator, and naturally, a predator needs prey. Prey exist to be hunted and consumed. No one says to the wolf, “How cruel of you to devour the rabbit. Your nature is evil.” No animal is evil or good, and no man or woman is, either. The only evil I believe in is not being true to who you really are, and letting the prey tell you who you should be instead.

  My parents taught me these things, and much more. I had a wonderful childhood: I won’t apologize for that. My parents loved me more than anything in the world. Some might say they spoiled me, giving me whatever I wanted. I learned early on how to get my way. Because my parents were psychologists, they understood what I was doing, but they wanted me to be strong, to make my own way in the world. They were proud of me for my brilliant mind and strong will, encouraging both. We were very happy.

  Then one day, my mother died.

  She’d been ill for some time, so I felt ready to say goodbye, though I grieved her for a time. I was fifteen, flowering into a woman. My father told me, "Now you’re the woman of the house. I’ll be counting on you to do the things your mother used to do.”

  It was a lot of responsibility, but he knew I could handle it. We had servants, of course, so they continued to do all the hard work. I supervised them, punished those who needed it, and helped Cook plan menus. I wanted Father to be proud of me; I craved his praise.

  But he’d begun to work long hours, trying to bury his grief, spending less and less time with me. I’d been so accustomed to having his full attention, it felt like a betrayal. As the days passed, I began to feel abandoned. Then I got angry. And then, one day…I had an idea.

  One night a few weeks after my mother’s passing, Father came into my room as he always did, to kiss me goodnight. My mother had always told me that men were weak, and I wanted to test that theory. So when my father kissed me chastely on the lips as I lay there, softly lit by the candle glowing beside my bed, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back. I even flicked out my tongue, licking his lips the way I saw a servant girl do with a boy, out behind our house when they thought no one would see.

  My father froze, then tried to pull away, though not strongly. I twined my hands up into his hair and pulled him down on top of me. Again, he protested, moaning this time,
but again I prevailed when I bit his lip just a little. He began to quiver all over. At last, haltingly, he lay down next to me. We stared into each other’s eyes. Slowly and deliberately, I pulled the ribbon loose at the front of my nightgown while he watched, leaned over, and kissed him again. This time, there were no protests.

  The next day, Father came home with a beautiful new dress and necklace for me.

  “They set off your dark hair and blue eyes perfectly,” he explained. I smiled at my reflection in the mirror when I tried them on, savoring what it felt like to be the predator and bring down the prey.

  Ever since then, I’ve used my beauty and my body to get boys—and later, men—to do whatever I wanted. Some of the girls in school called me “Malice” instead of Malyse behind my back because I enjoyed stealing their boyfriends and pitting them against each other for my affections, but they were just jealous. I owned the name proudly. And some of those girls didn’t complain when I cornered them and made them moan, too.

  After all, prey comes in all shapes, sizes, and genders.

  So when Wilde, Kai, Sera and I traveled to the Queensrealm that first day, leaving the others behind with the plague survivors, all I saw when we got there was prey. And all I wanted to know was how to get my claws into them. Control is power, and power is addictive. I’ve never been able to get enough of either.

  It wasn’t difficult to convince the others to pair off into two groups, with Wilde in my pairing. I’d had Wilde—and Kai, for that matter—eating out of my hand before the plague. I knew I could get him to do what I wanted now.

  Men like to think they’re in control, driving the action. Now that I no longer had a physical body, I couldn’t use sex to persuade a man, but I like a challenge. Wilde is a highly intelligent man. We’d played the game of love many times before, so by now he probably thought he had an idea of who I was, but I knew it wouldn’t stop him from wanting more. Who knew how long we’d be bodiless, after all? The Dark Lady had told me she’d seen me using my powers of persuasion, and that could only mean one thing…