Gambit of the Gods

by Ashley, Angela

  “It doesn’t matter what we may feel,” I reply, my voice flat. “It’s best for both of us that this ends now. I won’t watch you die because of me.”

  “Isn’t love worth any risk? I tried to fight it, but I can’t deny the feelings I have for you. Haven’t I seen those same feelings shining in your eyes? Tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll go.”

  Seeing the passion in his eyes and the strength of his feelings, I feel doubt creeping in. He’s being vulnerable, showing me his heart. How can I be so callous as to reject his love, when I feel it too? The shadows throw his face into stark relief, and for a moment, I see a skull instead. No. I must not give in. This is madness. If I love him, I must save him from himself.

  “I’m sorry, Jaereth. The risks are too grave.”

  At last, he sighs and bows his head. “Go, Lady Kella. Find your cold bed. I’d not have you risk your pretty neck for me. Be happy and safe.”

  Folding his arms across his chest, he watches me turn and walk away from him. The moonlight seems less silver now, tracing the branches of the trees; the gentle summer breeze suddenly seems cold. I shiver, but keep walking without looking back.

  This is for the best, I tell myself dully. For both of us. The stars witness my retreat back to all I’ve ever known in profound silence.

  Chapter 17: Malisanth

  My four sisters and I have been locked in the closet for so long, time no longer has any meaning. My youngest sister, Mapril, hasn’t spoken in a long while. I sense nothing from her, or from any of the others. Mapril will reach eight summers soon. I’m the second-oldest, with twelve summers.

  The last time we ate or drank—I think it must have been about two days ago. Mother snuck up the stairs to our closet door while Grandmama was sleeping and gave Mylora a plate of torn bread and a small jar of water. We fought over the bread, hands reaching through the darkness in desperation, with some quiet shoving and pinching. We must not wake Grandmama. She’ll leave us in here longer if she hears us.

  When she dragged us in here the first time and locked the door behind us, we tried to comfort each other. Mapril was afraid of the dark, her terror so palpable we all quivered with it, but we managed to distract her for a while by playing silly, made-up games. Could she guess how many fingers I was holding up? Could she tell which one of us her fingers found in the dark without us speaking? Who could go longest in the question game, where someone asks a question, and another answers with a question, and so on?

  The next several times, we tried to sleep as much as possible, hoping we would wake to the sight of the door opening. The few times Mother managed to sneak us food or water, we tried to share it out amongst ourselves as equally as we could. When at last the door opened and Grandmama beckoned, we were so careful to file out quietly, carrying our full chamberpot. We tried to play quietly and dampen our emotions, especially whenever Grandmama was nearby. Sometimes we tried to hide.

  But it didn’t matter how quietly we played or how careful we were to stay out of Grandmama’s sight. Suddenly she would be there, glowering at us, her long nails scratching us as she grabbed us by our hair and dragged us two at a time to the closet door, mumbling incoherently. We learned not to fight her—she’s very strong; she’ll pull your hair out, and gladly. Midalya, the third eldest, still has swaths of hair missing from struggling the last time Grandmama locked us up.

  We stopped misbehaving long ago because she’d come at us with a stick and beat us bloody first, then hurl us into the closet—it didn’t even matter if some of us had done nothing. If we pounded on the door, cried too long, or made too much noise, Grandmama would open the door, hit whoever was closest with her stick, and lock us back in.

  I’m Mother’s favorite, so my sisters sent me several times to entreat her to protect us from Grandmama. But Mother only shakes her head listlessly. Once she whispered that she used to be locked in the closet too, before shaking her head again and hurrying away, afraid that Grandmama might somehow overhear us. Mother’s three sisters avoid us, and our cousins shun us. Grandmama ignores them as if they don’t exist. We envy them for being invisible to her.

  The servants—those few who don’t work in Grandmama’s workshop within the crypts belowground, down a flight of cold stone steps we’ve never been allowed to go down—give us pitying looks when they think no one will notice, but would never dare to help us. The stick that Grandmama beats us with has mercilessly bludgeoned many a servant. There are always more servants to be had if need be.

  In the dark, we forget who we are. We become only need. We no longer think; we just need…

  Sometimes Grandmama comes and unlocks the door, then asks us questions. Which of us should be let out, and why? The answer is always wrong; she just grunts and locks the door on us again. Sometimes she brings a plate of food or a jar of water, then stands and throws gobbets of meat or splashes of water at us. We grab for it like animals, pushing and shoving while she chuckles. Sometimes she opens the door, making us hope she’ll let us out, then closes it again. We don’t even look up anymore when the door opens, now.

  Yesterday, though it’s hard to tell how much time has passed, Grandmama opened the door and offered her stick to my sister Maralyn. She was closest to the door at the time.

  “Hit me, dear,” she whispered, smiling her toothless smile, her breath smelling like death. Maralyn cowered away, not wanting to touch her or the stick, so Grandmama raised the stick high, still smiling, and hit her over her ear with it. Maralyn fell to the floor and didn’t get up again, while Grandmama stood over her for a moment, stick poised. Disappointed when Maralyn didn’t move, she offered her stick to us instead. We all stayed in the back of the closet, cowering. So she propped the stick up against the inside wall and left. Maralyn stirred some time later and crawled away from the door before slumping down again.

  But I’ve been thinking about the stick ever since. I can make out its shape, limned by the faint light filtering in under the door. My eyes are drawn to it. Should I pick it up and hit Grandmama with it when she comes back? Should I leave it alone? Hunger and thirst make it hard for me to think clearly. What does she want us to do? Maralyn didn’t take it from her; she was punished for it. Should I just cower away from the door and hope she hits one of my sisters and not me, the next time Grandmama comes?

  The door creaks open. Grandmama stands in the doorway, looking at us as if taking our measure. I can sense nothing from her. When she goes to close the door again, slowly, something breaks within me. I grab for the stick, just as my older sister Mylora does. My hand closes around it first and I swing it with the last of my strength. Mylora goes down and lies unmoving, blood pooling around her head.

  I hand the stick to Grandmama and she takes it without saying a word. I feel nothing. I don’t care what happens to me or my sisters anymore. Something in me has died, but I don’t miss it. My heart is a stone, hard and cold.

  Grandmama slowly, slowly smiles. She pats me on the shoulder. The old me would have been shocked to her core at this gesture, for Grandmama never touches us except to hurt us, but I don’t react at all. I just stand there, waiting, not thinking, staring into space. Her smile widens further. She pushes the door wide and walks away.

  We stand blinking in the light, then slowly file out, leaving Mylora crumpled on the floor and Maralyn huddled against the back wall of the closet. Eventually Maralyn crawls out too. Mylora doesn’t move. The rest of us curl up right where we are and go to sleep, our minds awash with mental and physical exhaustion.

  I wake when Mother comes in some time later with food, water, and some servants. The servants carry Mylora out. I guess I’m the eldest, now.

    

  The candle nearest to me goes out, waking me from my memories. The day they carried Mylora out seems like a lifetime ago now. Grandmama never locked us in the closet again. My remaining sisters have looked up to me as if I were their savior ever since. Mother and Grandmama petted and praised me while mostly ignoring them. My sisters don’t
seem to mind. I understand why, after all the times we longed to be invisible like our cousins were. Now, at long last, they are.

  Since then, both Grandmama and Mother have taken their places in the land of Death, over which our Goddess, blessed Mystalora, presides. I am High Elder of House Mystalora now.

  I’m down in the crypts, supervising the slaves dragging tree limbs, branches and twigs in through the tunnel leading up and up to the forest floor outside our castle walls. My sisters are with me, except for Mapril, sorting what the servants drag in according to size. We must leave the piles of wood for four Fifth-Days to make sure all life has drained from them. Our Goddess’ power is greatest when death reigns.

  My daughters will join us soon. My sister Mapril is testing them now, as we were tested so long ago in the closet, to see which among them is worthy to lead this House when I am no longer able. It should have been Mother’s honor, but the sickness took her too soon.

  My mind-mate, Nev’i, informs me there is word from Twitching Whisker. Gesturing to my sisters to continue without me, I close my eyes, waiting for the link to Whisker’s mind-mate, Do’an. Twitching Whisker’s face comes into focus in my mind.

  “Tell me you have her.”

  He hesitates. “Their power was too great,” he answers, his voice sullen.

  I let my breath out, slowly, like a sigh. My heart is a stone, I remind myself.

  “What happened?” I demand, still calm, but Twitching Whisker flinches at the sudden steel in my voice.

  “That stupid healer’s boy called trees up out of the ground and vines out of his staff! They crushed my army of the dead,” he whines. “Then Little Squirrel called animals to her rescue and they shattered what was left. It’s going to take forever to gather more.”

  He watches me carefully. He knows he is not beyond my reach. But I need him, still.

  “Gather the others. Follow through with the rest of the plan. And Whisker?” I add, my voice now as frozen as the Dark Lady’s heart. He gulps and stops mid-snivel. “Don’t fail me again.”

  “I won’t. I live to serve you and the Dark Lady.”

  I release him from our connection. After waiting a few moments for my anger and fear to become more manageable, I direct Nev’i to reach out to Her.

  As always when the light flares up within my mind and her image resolves, she is wearing my Grandmama’s face. The toothless mouth gapes at me in the mockery of a smile, and then the facade falls away.

  Staring back at me now is the most beautiful face I’ve ever beheld. Her hair is dark as a raven’s wing and just as glossy, framing impossible eyes awash in colors unknown among mortals. Her wings flare out behind her, black holes that swallow light, every wingbeat annihilating stars. Death breathes from her like an exhalation, making me want to cringe away in fear, but I dare not. Instead, I bow low in worship and adoration, every longing in my stone heart bent on pleasing and serving her.

  She acknowledges my devotion with a small smile. “I am glad to see you, my child,” she purrs. My little stone heart shivers in ecstasy.

  “I live to worship and obey, Dark Lady,” I whisper fervently, my voice shaking. As always, I’m filled with awe at the thought of speaking with my Goddess. Her smile widens and she strokes my soul as one would a faithful pet. I fight to keep my composure, but tears fill my eyes. No one has ever made me feel such love. It’s overwhelming.

  “What news do you bring me, my dear?” the Dark Goddess inquires, her voice deceptively gentle. Fear stabs through my heart at the thought of displeasing her.

  “Twitching Whisker has failed.”

  At that, her face darkens and her mind squeezes my soul. “But I have commanded him to finish them,” I add quickly. “I will not fail you, Great Lady! I promise you, soon we will be ready to strike, and none shall be able to stand against us.”

  Slowly, the thunderclouds clear from her magnificent eyes. I find myself able to breathe again. Quivering inside, I feel completely vulnerable, stripped bare in a moment that seems to stretch into eternity. She considers me, weighing and measuring my soul.

  At long last, her grip on me loosens.

  “See that you don’t disappoint me again, my child. Soon, I will send the daughter of my heart, Malyse, to you. She will not be as understanding of your failings as I am.”

  One last tendril strokes my soul, then her image slowly fades. When it’s gone, my surroundings seem dull. I brush a shaking hand across my eyes to dash away the tears and straighten my back. I had been bent small under the onslaught of her ire.

  My shivering little heart returns to stone as I make my way across the crypts to where my sisters stand, sorting the piles of wood. One look at my face and they redouble their efforts, not wanting to become a focus for my anger. But I’m too concerned with counting row upon row of finished wooden golems to care.

  My family has been making them for over fifty summers, so by now they can’t truly be counted, but I try anyway. It soothes me. We will crush the Dark Goddess’s enemies in due time. But somehow, I must find a way to take back what is mine.

  Chapter 18: Jaereth

  Waiting alone in the woods, I fight to put Kella out of my mind. I thought tonight would be the beginning of something special, believing that if I showed her my heart, she would see past my ability and give me a chance. I thought she was different. But I guess all she saw when she looked at me was a slave, just like the rest of her kind.

  Her words keep coming back to me: It doesn’t matter what we may feel. It’s best for both of us that this ends now. The risks are too grave.

  What she doesn’t know, what I can’t tell her and risk the lives of my fellow slaves, is that in two days’ time, everything will change. We will rise up, and bring them low. I meant every word I said to her, with all my heart—I love her—but even love may not be able to save her, then.

  A twig snaps behind me, and I whirl, heart pounding. Kisto and a handful of others step out of the trees.

  “The look on your face,” Canu teases, reaching me first. “Like a horse finding a rider atop her for the first time.” He pulls a terrified face for the others by the light of our one purloined lantern, and they all choke back laughter. If we’re caught out here after dark, we’ll likely all be hung. But there’s little enough humor in our lives, and Canu is legendary for his. Besides, it’s well past midnight. Even the Elite Corps doesn’t range this far into the woods this late unless a slave has gone missing.

  “All right, lads,” I interject before Canu can continue to entertain his audience, “let’s get started.” Pushing aside a pile of leaves behind a certain boulder, I retrieve two rusty knives and an axe. Kisto takes the axe from me, and I keep one of the knives for myself. As the leader, if we’re caught with weapons, I should be the one hanged. Though most likely, it won’t matter who’s holding what. The 10th Law says if we know another slave is breaking a Law and do nothing, we’re just as guilty as the lawbreaker.

  Under another pile of leaves, we uncover a number of long branches of varying lengths, gathered secretly during the day. They’re all about the right size to make into a spear. We set to work, stripping the leaves from them and sharpening one end to a point.

  We’ve done this the last several nights in a row, and the lack of sleep is beginning to catch up to me. My mind plays tricks, showing me images of Kella on the end of a spear, coughing up blood, staring at me with a look of betrayal in her eyes…

  “Time to go,” Kisto whispers, breaking into my imaginings. I start, realizing I’ve been staring at the sharpened stick in my hands for some time. Canu takes the knife from me and adds it to the others, covering them once again with leaves. I carry my makeshift spear over to the other cache and drop it in beside the others, stooping to cover them. Between this cache and the others hidden in various places, we’re almost ready.

  “Good work, my friends,” I commend them. We shutter the lantern and file into the woods. The moonlight is bright enough to keep us from stumbling off the path. All
I can think about now is how good it will feel to lie down and sleep.

  A flash of golden light catches my eye. It’s behind us. I feel the blood drain from my face, my pulse suddenly loud in my ears. Either someone is following us, or they’re about to stumble upon us. Either way, we’re dead.

  The others glimpsed it too. Kisto blows out the lantern and sets it behind a tree, ready to make a run for it. The others look to me, waiting on my command. We’re too far from the slave encampment to flee, I decide, watching the light bob through the trees, closer and closer.

  “Spread out and hide,” I murmur. “Don’t forget to shield your emotions.” The others melt away into the shadows. Stepping off the path, I ghost through the trees, thanking my God for the moss muting the sounds of my passage. Not daring to go too far and risk crashing into something, I slip behind the broad trunk of a tree.

  Breathe, I tell myself. Whoever it is, they’ll never know we’re here. You can always use your ability, if necessary.

  A golden glow spills past my tree trunk as the lantern nears. I hear voices, and laughter.

  “What’s it like, High Elder?” It’s the voice of a young girl. Peeking quickly around my tree, I see a girl in a green dress and several women in black, red, pink and orange dresses, revealed by the lantern’s light. They’ve paused on the path not far from me, waiting for a woman in pink to tie the laces of her boot. Three of the Elite Corps wait behind the group, one holding the lantern aloft.

  “It’s like…whispering with a friend, and seeing through their eyes,” a woman in black replies. She smiles, about to say more, then turns quickly, looking in my direction. I duck back behind the tree, desperately shielding the spike of fear that shoots through me.

  She didn’t see me. How could she have?

  The voice of the woman in black comes to me again, calm and amused-sounding. “You’d be amazed at what you’ll see and overhear, Kliara dear. Come, now, we’ve got to get you home.”