Will Yarrington now be more of the same?
“Now it is your time to rest,” Torsten went on after she didn’t answer. “I’ll prepare a small convoy that will take us to Yarrington ahead of the army so that Pi can receive a proper burial and defenses can be prepared.”
“You can go ahead, Sir Unger,” Mahi replied. “I’ll stay with my people.”
“Our people now.”
“You don’t need to keep lying,” she said.
“About?”
“I know the marriage is worthless without consummation. It will be annulled, which means I’m no longer a Queen or a Caleef, just a wanderer leading loyal wanderers.”
Torsten’s features twisted with concern. “Mahraveh, that’s—“
“The truth, Sir Unger. Speak it, and so will I.”
Torsten stopped his zhulong, then led them to the wall of the bridge, where the rush of water from far below reminded Mahi of the ocean. At least it drowned out some of the murmurings. As her people approached, it became less about Pi and more about “untrustworthy foreigners.”
Torsten exhaled slowly. “You’re right. In the eyes of the Church of Iam, the marriage isn’t real. And west of this gorge, those are the only eyes that matter.”
“I was wondering how long it would take you to tell me,” Mahi said, feigning a smirk. It all seemed so wrong to talk about with the cold body of her unofficial husband lying right behind her.
“In the spirit of honesty? We can’t afford to lose your army.”
“And you won’t,” Mahi assured him. “We will fight alongside the Glass Kingdom until this is over. You have my word. If your people will let us.”
“They will, or they’ll die. But your father burned down many villages west and south of here when he rebelled. Killed the family of a lot of these people.”
“And your army didn’t do the same to mine?”
“It doesn’t matter. We’re in the Glass now, not the Black Sands. All we can hope is that they’ll put aside the past so we can all fight together. It’s what the marriage was meant to do.”
“They’ll listen to you,” she said.
“By Iam, I hope so.”
“Make them, Sir Unger. Make them, and we will all fight Nesilia until our dying breaths for taking our homes away. All I ask is for one thing.”
Torsten turned to face her, his blindfold hiding any true expression. “And what is that?”
“After Nesilia is gone, you’ll help us take Latiapur back from those loyal to Babrak.”
He lifted his hands and circled his eye-sockets with his fingers. “In the name of Iam, if there’s an army left to do it with, you have my word.”
“That’s not it. The Glass Kingdom will relinquish all claims to my lands. There will be no more tribute. No more bowing before a Glass King. We will be free to be our own Kingdom.”
“I can’t promise that.”
Mahi set her lips in a straight line. “You have to.”
“I can’t!” he blurted, squeezing the parapet so hard a chunk of loose stone along the top slid free. “I am not King.”
“You’ll advise the next one.”
“Mahraveh, I don’t have any idea who the next one will be. That boy was the last of the Nothhelms. The last of the family I swore and failed to protect time and time again. The next King would be wise to have me hanged so I can’t fail again, but until then, I will serve. So, I can’t promise you anything. Not freedom. Not an army. Only that if we win, I will help you take your city back from the men that helped kill Pi.”
Mahi didn’t realize her hands had been balled into fists until she looked down. She drew a measured breath. It was hard to be angry with the man. She’d lost everything. Clearly, so had he. And one thing was for certain, if they won, Pantego wouldn’t be the place she knew as a child.
Panping was a leaderless mess infested by demons. Her home was ruled by an imposter. The West was without a King and about to come under siege by monsters and all the evil of Elsewhere.
“Okay, Sir Unger,” she said. “I understand. But I’m going to hold you to that. Who will need an army when I have the man who tied my exalted father in a duel?”
Torsten released an exasperated chuckle. “Who, indeed?”
Sleep was as hard to come by in the safety of White Bridge’s shadow as it had been in the desert. Mahi had to break up a number of arguments between her people and the Glassmen.
Especially with Torsten and Lord Jolly gone. They’d left with Pi by horseback before nightfall, intending to ride non-stop to Yarrington where his body could be preserved, as were their ways. Mahi couldn’t question it any more than why she’d resigned her father’s body to driftwood and sent it out into the Boiling Waters.
With them absent, however, the Shieldsman named Sir Mulliner was left in charge. Which didn’t help at all.
So, Mahi found herself strolling along the crags of the Jarein Gorge alone with her thoughts. The rock this far north was different—rougher and easier footing. She climbed to a low clearing overlooking the river at the bottom of the gorge, where the light of Pantego’s moons could barely penetrate.
She found a lonely apple tree growing out of a patch of grass. The fruit wasn’t ripe, tiny and pathetic, but it would provide shelter and a bit of comfort. It was there she finally decided to lie down. Away from noise, away from all the people who couldn’t put aside their prejudices to fight a common enemy.
She watched the moons slowly arcing across the star-speckled sky, and for the first time since before the eve of her failed marriage, she dozed off. She drifted in and out, but she hadn’t even realized how tired she’d been. Even in a body blessed by her god, she was still mortal.
Branches rustled, stirring Mahi awake. Her eyes snapped open, and she saw a shadowy, feminine figure lurking around the other side of the tree. She was so tired she’d left her spear stabbed into the ground across the clearing, behind the stranger.
The woman picked a piece of fruit off the tree. She examined the fruit, rotating it in both hands as if she’d never seen an apple before. Of course, that was when Mahi realized she hadn’t ever seen one growing in the wild either. Only stuffed into crates by traders in the Latiapur markets.
“I remember when I helped create these,” the woman said. Her voice was familiar, sultry, with an ethereal quality like that of the mystic, yet was different. Intoxicating almost. Mahi wanted to make a break for her weapon but found herself too entranced to move.
“This is a dream,” Mahi said.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” The woman finally decided to bite a chunk out of the apple. It was too dark to see her expression, but she nearly gagged before tossing the fruit over her shoulder and off the ledge. She wiped her hands together. “Disgusting.”
“Who are you?”
“You know who I am.” The woman turned and stepped into the light of the moons. Her hair was so white it was nearly silver. Her face was pale and freckled, but clearly belonging to a woman from Yarrington. All except for eyes that were dark as midnight, dark as Mahi’s own enchanted skin.
“Nesilia,” Mahi spat. She sat up, digging her fingers into the dirt and preparing to attack at a moment’s notice.
The Buried Goddess spread her arms wide. “In the flesh… well, not my own.”
“Dream or not, I’ll still kill you!” Mahi kicked to her feet and rushed her. She aimed for the throat first and laid a blow before Nesilia could defend. Then she rolled around behind her, grabbed her spear, and plunged it forward into the woman’s stomach.
Mahi grunted and shoved the blade through with all her might. It burst out of Nesilia’s back, but the woman didn’t budge in the slightest. Her lips merely curled into a wicked grin.
“No, you won’t.” Her hands shot forward, lightning-fast. They broke Mahi’s grip on the spear, throwing her against the tree in one smooth motion. Then, Nesilia yanked the weapon out and rolled her neck.
“You are impressive, though,” Nesilia said. She admired the dar
k blood staining the spear, while Mahi stared at how the wound in her gut healed all on its own. “I suppose my brother’s final act in choosing really wasn’t so dreadful.”
“So, he is gone?” Mahi asked.
“As gone as I was. Here.”
She tossed the spear over, and Mahi jolted forward to catch it in mid-air and commence a new attack. This time, Nesilia dodged her every strike with ease. She was like the air, impossibly fast. Barely even trying.
“Would you relax?” Nesilia asked.
“Not until you’re dead!” Mahi came at her with a flurry of blows. Nesilia evaded them all but backed up toward the ledge right where Mahi had her. Mahi feigned a slash, then curled back to thrust with the Serpent Strike her father had taught her, which had won her a victory in the arena.
Nesilia was gone in a blink, and Mahi found herself nearly tumbling until her enemy grasped her from behind by the clothes and yanked her back. She slipped onto her rear, once again losing grip of the spear. But she recovered quickly and reached for it. The moment her hand wrapped the spear, Nesilia’s foot fell upon it with a crushing weight, not befitting her size.
“Do you ever stop?” she asked.
“You killed my father!” Mahi abandoned her pursuit of the spear, pushing herself into a roll that swept out Nesilia’s legs. Her knee came crashing down toward Nesilia’s chest, then the goddess was gone. Nesilia was suddenly in front of her and smacked Mahi across the face with the back of her hand.
It felt like a sledgehammer and sent her soaring across the clearing into the cliffside, then tumbling down onto the dirt. The taste of iron filled her mouth. She spat up blood and tried to stand.
Nesilia vanished again and appeared behind her, knee against her spine so that her face was smashed against the dirt. She leaned over to whisper in Mahi’s ear. Glinting tips of upyr fangs drew close.
“I did kill him,” Nesilia whispered. “He thought no god could touch him, and I squashed him like a bug. Isn’t that what my brother taught your people to respect? Strength? Who is stronger than me?”
“You’re a coward, hiding in that body, here in the shadows,” Mahi hissed.
“Oh, I promise you. I’m not hiding. I came here for you. Not to kill you, but to make you an offer. Babrak was merely a tool. A means to an end. To destroy the sad world Caliphar built in the Black Sands. But you, my dear Mahraveh. You are a jewel.”
“I would never fight for you if that’s what you’re going to ask.”
“And smart as a whip!” Nesilia exclaimed. She let her weight off and began to pace. Mahi was so weakened, her muscles burned just in an attempt to get to her hands and knees.
“No, Mahraveh,” Nesilia went on. “You have far too much self-respect to do that. The most powerful woman in the world for a week. A champion of my brother’s favored arena. By all means, you could be a true goddess yourself, not this… sham.” She waved her hand in dismissal.
“I’ll show you a sham.” Mahi mustered every ounce of energy she had and begun to rise.
“Sit. Down.” Nesilia snarled, her tone echoing across the crags of the canyon. Her voice struck Mahi like a shockwave and sent her back against the rocks, holding her there.
“Can’t you see?” she continued. “I will make a new world, for the strong. Like us. It won’t matter who birthed them, or their family, or what is or isn’t between their legs; only what they can do.”
“At what cost?” Mahi said through her teeth.
“The only cost. Why stay on the losing side? Your god is gone. Iam means nothing to you nor his Kingdom. Stand with me, or stay out of my way. Do either, and when this is finished, you’ll have your Kingdom and so much more. I’ll let you cut Babrak’s heart out yourself.”
The pressure released from Mahi’s muscles, and she collapsed to her knees, gasping for air and feeling to see that her heart still beat. She drew a few more beleaguered breaths, then glared up at Nesilia. “I don’t need your help to do that. I’ll kill you. Then I’ll kill him, then anyone else who hurt my people.”
“Your people,” Nesilia scoffed. Then she clicked her tongue and shook her head. “What a shame. What an awful shame.”
She turned her back and walked to the ledge, staring down at the water, completely unafraid that Mahi might sneak up on her. Mahi recognized the move. Men in the arena did it when they knew they had the fight in hand. Sometimes, their arrogance cost them, but this time, Nesilia did have the upper hand. Mahi could barely move.
“Well, my dear,” Nesilia said. “My offer stands until the moment your heart stops beating, and you meet the fate of your father. Even if you fight against me. Any time you change your mind, I’ll be ready. There are so few humans on this rock worth paying attention to, but you truly are one of a kind.”
Mahi sucked in another breath, her lungs stinging. “Well, I…” The words died on her lips when Nesilia vanished with a gust of wind like she’d never even been there at all.
“My Caleef, who are you talking to?” Bit’rudam asked from above while she bent to retrieve her spear.
She glanced up and saw him standing atop the cliffside. “Nobody,” she said. “Just a bad dream.”
“About Latiapur?” He hopped down a few rocks, then slid down the sharp slope to her level.
“About many things.” She squeezed the weapon’s shaft and stared down where Nesilia had been. The river gushed along, though she could barely see it. A few seconds went by in silence until she heard Bit’rudam’s heavy breathing right behind her.
“I’m sorry about how I’ve been acting with them,” he said.
“You should be.”
“I just see the way they look at us, and now we’re here, and I…” he sighed. “There’s no excuse. It’s not my place.”
“We all need to be in this together, Bit’rudam.”
“I know.”
Mahi spun to face him. “Sir Unger thinks Nesilia wants an audience, but he’s wrong. She just wants us all to be together, looking into each other’s eyes as she ravages us. She’s a monster that just wants to feel the pain.”
Bit’rudam reached for her hand, hesitated, then went all the way. “Mahraveh, is everything all right? I haven’t seen you look this rattled since before you fell.”
“Just be quiet.” She threw her spear aside and grabbed him. She didn’t think twice. Her lips pressed against his, and she squeezed him into her so she could feel the heaving of his chest.
He pushed off, breathless. “But your marriage.”
“I said, quiet.”
She kissed him again, silencing him, forcing him onto his back. Finally, he stopped resisting and kissed her back under the shadow of the apple tree.
XXIX
The Priest
Glayton Morningweg had gone by many names. His father called him lazy more than anything. But a blacksmith’s life was never for him. His mother called him sweetheart, as mothers are oft to do, and he loved her for it, even though he never felt like it fit.
As a child, he’d had cruel tendencies.
Sister Ulture, who taught at the school he went to, smacked that right out of him. She always called him stupid.
And so, he ran away. Then, alone in the bitter North in the dead of night, cursing Iam, his God revealed himself in the form of brilliant, vivid lights dancing in the arctic sky. A rare occurrence, so he’d learned.
And thus began his pilgrimage to Hornsheim, the site where Iam was said to have birthed Pantego’s first life. There, serving as a monk, he’d earned a new name when his own eyes were taken from him.
He returned home as Father Morningweg, priest of his village, Fessix, only to find that his parents had already passed on. That didn’t stop him. In their name, he served Iam and taught his flock that faith would protect them.
All this until Redstar and a horde of Drav Cra proved that wasn’t true, and named him Faithless. His entire village was slaughtered but for a single boy, and Father Morningweg was left father to nobody.
A wander
ing priest.
A drunkard.
A man who needed no name.
From that moment, he’d waddled through life in a haze.—back to his younger ways of caring for nothing and no one. Then, fate or Iam played a cruel trick, making him the personal priest of a horrible gangster named Valin Tehr. Absolution in exchange for the money to stay drunk.
It was there, in a dungeon no less, that he met Sir Torsten Unger, and everything changed. He bore witness to a man who’d been faithful to a fault, who never let it waver, even when it cost his eyes and dignity. A man who, right then, was finally ready to crack.
And so, after years of cursing Iam’s name, Morningweg prayed. He expected nothing, but then, Iam gave Torsten the ability to see again. Glayton thought it was Torsten’s faith that earned such a blessing but nobody would hear him.
From a priest without a church, he became High Priest of Iam, presiding over the entirety of the Order. A man capable of miracles, he was now named Dellbar the Holy after a far more famous high priest of old.
It was quite a story, even he would admit, but he wasn’t the same man whose church and people had been burned down right in front of him.
He’d drifted along the path laid before him, doing as he wanted to, speaking as he wanted to. No, the man who was now Dellbar the Holy continued doubting that Iam cared for one second about his pitiful life.
Then the Buried Goddess rose on the fields outside White Bridge, and for the first time in Dellbar’s life, Iam made his presence known. Not through signs or miracles, but his very being.
He became more than an idol for faith. And in doing so, more than the perfect Father of Light he was thought to be. Dellbar saw in his God the same emotion that had gripped him every time raiders came to his village. He saw in Him everything that made humans so flawed.
Fear.
Even when Iam’s presence left him, and Dellbar was a mere mortal again, that fear remained. Because in that ensuing silence, he knew, as Iam knew, that was it—their God’s last gasp to defend His children against His own horrible mistake.
Word of Truth Page 35
