by Jay Requard
"Die, Panther," Kosey shouted, driving in to spill the bucket on Manwe, who dodged to the side of the black goo. Spinning into a wide wheeling kick, Manwe swung his heel into the back of Kosey's head, knocking him face first into the burning puddle he made on the sidewalk.
Screaming as he smacked its center, Kosey flopped over involuntarily, his agony a high note as the substance boiled flesh from muscle and bone.
Too horrified to look at his former friend's deserved death, Manwe returned to his previous path, only to meet Voduni Calla. The voduni wove his hands in an intricate pattern, mumbling words beneath the wind as the world brightened around them.
Suddenly free from the bonds of gravity, Manwe flew to the side, cast like a stone by some invisible force. Smashed into the fence of the Senate Consul's home, he fell to the ground in a bruised, bleeding mess.
"It has... been... long since I willed the spirit without the stone," Voduni Calla said, panting to regain his breath. He drew his dagger from its place on his thin belt. "To know one's limits in light of afforded limitlessness is... refreshing."
Manwe had lost his knife. Unable to focus, his vision blurred when he posted up on his arms, coughing a glob of blood when he tried for a breath. The vulture skull had remained in his hand. Sunlight flowed over the street, deepening the voduni's shadow as it fell over him. Day arrived, and satisfied with how things had gone, he let himself collapse on his side.
"Beg me, thief," Voduni Calla goaded, his poisoned face cut by the shadows of the sun. His eyes, the bloodshot and dotted black, glowed. "Beg me to make you a ghoul. It will be kinder than other the other things I will do."
Manwe spat blood at his nemesis' feet. "Just hold on."
Calla kicked him hard in the chest, driving the wind from his body. Breathless, Manwe wheezed in attempt to laugh, hugging the vulture skull to his chest. The pathetic sound drove the voduni into a deeper rage, and he kicked him again, and again, and again, until he hobbled away, having broken his toes. He limped back over, shoving Manwe onto his back so he could mount him. He forced his dagger under his chin, the edge hot against the black scruff over the apple of his throat.
Manwe laughed at him.
“Why are you laughing, fool?” Voduni Calla pressed the blade in. "You're about to die."
Manwe grabbed the voduni by the back of his head, pulling him down until their noses touched. "We're going to die together."
His foe tried to pull away when the first stone cast by the Gypians dropped a few feet from where they lay. Dust blossomed with the shattering of pavement. Before Voduni Calla could react to the sudden explosion, Manwe tossed the vulture's skull—and the stone—into the crater the impact had created. Another boulder landed on the same spot, and the sunny world pitched to darkness as the magic released, blowing away Manwe’s consciousness in an instant.
For all the invasions, the rebellions, the creation of good things and the destruction of the bad, Manwe knew life never made sense.
Only nature did.
The bosom of Mother Earth could be cruel or caring, but no matter what she gave to the things born of her flesh, all thieves knew that she would claim her dues in the end. She would eat his body, wear at his bones, returning the child to her womb while his spirit sank to the underworld to be judged worthy or deficient. The cost of the latter meant he might live again—another life, another strife to endure.
So when he opened his eyes to the broken streets of Tolivius, whole and unharmed, the confusion that followed settled hard. Leaning against the broken column that once served as the gatepost for the Senate Consul's manor, a question formed as he woke. "How?"
"Magic."
Cleon rested beside him, clad in his red robes that dazzled in midday. His face freshly shaved, he seemed no worse for wear than the time the two lovers had last seen each other.
Overcome with emotion, Manwe scrunched his face as the tears rolled. His hands came up without warning, the meat of his palms grinding into the sockets as sobs racked his body.
Cleon scooted closer and drew Manwe into his embrace. They sat there for long, long minutes, exposed to the gentle eddies of a cloudless blue sky clean of smoke, the stench of the dead, or any sign that their world had ended there. Calm found Manwe, and wheezing past the snot in his nostrils, he glanced out at what remained of Tolivius.
On the gentle hills lay a rug of rubble, and beneath that, the soil had blackened with the blood of the ghouls. The great manors lay in tattered bits, mounds of debris dotting the places where the mighty and powerful of the west had ruled the savannah with such certainty for so long.
And now they were gone.
The revolution was over.
"I never wanted it to be like this," he said, his mouth trembling. "I never wanted so many to suffer, to die. I just wanted my people free."
"And now they are, Panther," said Cleon. "They are free from of Gypus, of Tolivius, and of evil. At least for now."
Manwe rose, hips pressed against the gatepost. "Where are the Gypians? I thought they would want to retake the city after their victory."
"Oh, no." Cleon got to his feet and brushed off the back of his ruby coat. A small smile turned his lips up, and his brown eyes sparkled as he lifted his gaze to the sky. "Too many lost, too few to gain. They took what survivors they had and headed westward. I can only imagine how the emperor is going to react when he hears that nothing was won."
"And the Juutans?"
"To the spiced winds, Manwe, as they have always gone."
He nodded. He pawed the back of his loincloth's band, wondering where his knife had gone. Catching sight of the rubble again, he sniffed sadly at the realization that it was probably gone with Calla, Kosey, and everything else. "I tried looking for you. I thought you had fallen."
"I did. Or at least I did for a moment. Magera was incredibly sore that I did not come and find you after I dragged myself to—"
"Magera!" Manwe broke away, sprinting south to clear the hill. Cleon followed behind as they picked across the fragmented roads. When they met the bottom of the descent, they came to an outlook that the Gypians had built long ago, a stone fencing that survived the westerner's bombardment. With a view that surveyed the entire breadth of the south, the entirety of the destruction was made clear.
Save for one building.
Where the temple quarter once stood, only a single spire remained, pink marble that glistened like a torch to hope, feeding down into a foundation untouched by what had befallen all else. The Temple of the Goddess of Love shone like a beautiful rose, a testament to the goodness still left in what had been a place bereft of it. The sacrificial fires in its halls burned, billowing white smoke to bless luck and bounty. Out on one of its many precipices, a tiny figure swathed in blue silk waved at them.
Manwe sank to his knees, black arms hung on the stone fence of the overlook, weeping happiness. Cleon secured him from behind in his gentle arms and whispered how much he loved him. Silenced by the emotion he refused to restrict, the thief let his sorcerer say what was needed, knowing that he would reply likewise when able.
The winds whipped the savannah, carrying ancient secrets from scrub and squat trees only the Mother knew. She sang to her children, man and beast alike, who answered in beautiful notes or cacophonies, as they were meant to. The world continued on as it had, different than it was before.
There would always be masters, slaves, lords, and thieves, but as always, there would remain one constant.
Change.
For Manwe, the world had changed, yet for better or worse, love still reigned with the Mother. If fate was kind, it would seed whatever came next.
For Manwe, that had been the revolution Toba had fought for.
THE END
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Acknowledgments
Thanks to Melissa Gilbert of Clicking Keys for all her help in bringing this project to life.
Thanks to James R. Tuck for his awesome covers.
About the Author
Born on a grim gray day, Jay Requard is an Epic Fantasy and Sword & Sorcery author currently residing in Charlotte, North Carolina. With experience in medieval fencing, grappling, boxing, and kickboxing, his work features hardened heroes set against the greatest odds with little more than hope and the strength of their arms to save themselves. A graduate of the University of North Carolina at Charlotte, his love of the Iron Age, India, Scotland, history, and religion infuse his work with themes of social struggle, redemption, love, and the power of the spirit.
Jay is also Business Manager of Falstaff Books.
In his spare time Jay enjoys lifting, brewing, cooking British and Indian cuisine, and hiking the Blue Ridge Mountains. He is also an avid gamer and has a fluffy cat named Mona.
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