Chapter One: Sing Muse, of Hades and Light
In the Kingdom of Rezzia, inside the highest chamber of the grand minaret, ten-year-old Lucia looked out to see her father on the balcony. He lifted her newborn brother high above his head and the masses, hundreds of feet below, roared with devotion.
Father, what are you doing! she thought. Be more careful with our savior. She glanced down at her naked mother resting in the birthing pool with her eyes closed. Her mother’s black hair clung to her neck, all of it soaked by the holy waters. You did it, Mother.
Lucia crept toward the archway leading to the balcony, keeping close to the walls of the circular room. She squinted, fighting the midday sun. Tears soaked her father’s cheeks as he presented the pink baby to the faithful. Nature had tattooed thorny red and black vines on little Caio’s hands and forearms: the holy markings of the Haissem.
Gazing at Caio, Lucia felt her spirit uplifted by a holy presence. The teachings are coming true! A Haissem had come again, to rescue all the world. Her brother would conquer Rezzia’s foes and bring the gods’ light to everyone.
She skipped forward to participate in the royal scene, and looked down at tens of thousands of pilgrims in their cream robes. She felt dizzy. The clay-white acropolis of the holy city sprawled across the desert plateau: massive domed structures, spiraling minarets, and temples of the ten gods supported by grand columns.
She clutched her father’s ceremonial cremos robe to steady herself. The fabric was bloodied; her father had obeyed the scriptural commandment for Rezzia’s King to oversee the birth of his own Haissem son. She felt so lucky, knowing every Rezzian alive would love to be in her place, touching her father’s silky robes and the words of divine power stitched into them.
Her father pressed the baby against his chest, and pushed Lucia backward with his free hand. He raised up baby Caio and beamed his joy again. The rejection jarred her out of her bliss.
Her father’s face, with his heavy brown eyes and his perfectly trimmed beard, always showed his serious nature. But as he admired the baby-so high above the masses-he was transformed, positively euphoric. He looked at Caio with such a true love, a look she had never, ever seen before.
Her eyes darted from her father to her brother and back again. Father, your love for me is a lie. She dropped her head and long vermilion hair fell around her face. She refused to cry. She would never allow herself to feel so loved by her father again.
The crowd’s chanting grew louder and louder. They cried out in the old tongue, we love and adore Him:
“Havah ilz avah Haissem!”
“Havah ilz avah Haissem!”
“Havah ilz avah Haissem!”
Their hypnotic praying gave direction and clarity to her pummeled heart. The truth struck her as she watched the red-faced babe glowing against the sky. Her brother was a divine man. According to the warpriests, a Haissem had not been born in hundreds of years. They said Caio would be blessed with unparalleled spiritual gifts, including the ultimate proof of his godliness: He would be able to resurrect one person from death during his lifetime.
I don’t matter anymore, she thought. Her royal duty would be pure devotion to Him. As his only sibling, she would always be there to provide whatever he needed. All of her divinely given powers from the goddess Ysa would serve Him alone.
A deep voice coming from inside the chamber startled her: “My dearest Lucia.”
The voice’s tone made her stomach convulse. “Sweet Lucia, come see your mother.”
She turned, tugged on her father’s robe and pointed into the sacred chamber. “There’s a man in there!”
The chanting of the crowd grew louder. Her father pushed her away, harder this time.
“There’s a man in there!” Her father ignored her again, so she crept closer and peeked inside. Behind the now bloodied waters of the birthing pool, looming above her mother, stood a colossal man. The black of his bald head and muscled arms resembled the leather covering him from thighs to shoulders. A single orange teardrop decorated the skin beneath his left eye.
Lucia recognized the face from scriptural stories. The Black One, the god Lord Danato.
“Your mother is going away forever.” Danato crossed one arm over his chest and put his other hand to his jutting chin. “Come, be with her while you can.”
Lucia breathed heavily with her mouth open. Her mother’s face looked peaceful before-now it was tortured.
“Father, come quickly!”
Her father continued to hold Caio in the air, but turned his head to look at her. “Everything is fine, Lucia.”
“No! There’s a man in here, muh-muh-Mother needs you!”
He lowered the newborn to his chest and waved to the crowd.
“Father, listen to me!”
He strolled into the chamber, and all joy drained from his face. He ran straight to her mother, never looking at the black god. Her mother’s blood was reddening the holy pool.
“Father, don’t you see him?”
He put the baby on the stone floor.
Her mother opened her eyes, red with pain.
Lord Danato sauntered toward the stairs that led to the attendants below.
Her father put his hands to her mother’s sweating brow and prayed to his god.
Lucia yelled, “Lord Danato did this to her!”
“Get help, Lucia!” Her father wouldn’t take his eyes off her mother’s sweet face.
Danato stood in the archway between Lucia and the stairs, gazing at her with stony eyes.
“Lord Danato is there! Don’t you see him?”
“Stop your nonsense. Get help!” her father yelled.
Her mother screamed, a harrowing sound Lucia knew she would never forget.
The baby cried. Her father continued yelling at her.
She was paralyzed.
Danato’s voice boomed, “I am sorry, Lucia. There is a reason for all things.”
She looked down to avoid the god’s stare and squeezed her eyelids shut. She found the courage to look up again. The Black One was gone.
Her father pulled her lifeless mother from the pool and squeezed her vacant body against his chest. He cried over a woman who had been so full of life-gone forever.
Lord Danato visited Lucia again that night, after she drifted off to sleep. It was the first of many more nightly visits from the god, and the onset of Lucia’s transformation.
*RED ALERT*
Author’s Note: I’ve skipped ahead to chapter five to keep the excerpt focused on Lucia and the events that directly affect her. The full novella focuses on two major characters, Lucia and her brother Caio, but I’ve decided to leave Caio out of this sample so that there’s much more for you to read in the novella itself. Caio’s development involves many religious themes and his struggle to reconcile his spirituality with the war. The novella is 15 chapters long; this excerpt covers 6 of those chapters.
To bridge the gap a bit, here’s some of what you missed in chapters 2 through 4. The story skips ahead 19 years to the era when the rest of the novel takes place. Lucia’s brother Caio is a great healer and a kind soul, literally worshipped by his people as their savior, or Haissem. Caio is now the Dux Spiritus, or military-spiritual commander of Rezzia’s armies; King Vieri, father to Lucia and Caio, has forced Caio to assume this role with the hope that Caio will bring the gods’ favor back to his fighting men. In order for this transition of power to take place, King Vieri travelled from the battle’s front to Rezzia’s holy capital city Remaes for the ceremony. In the meantime, Lucia is filling in for her father in the desert canyon, providing the sole divine support for Rezzia’s army …
Chapter Five: The Furies
Nineteen years later.
Exhausted from the carnage, Lucia wrapped herself in white sheets and prayed to Ysa before resigning to another unbearable night. After a long somber quiet, she was not yet aware the cloth had become soaked in red; she would need time to understand the reasons why.
As she lay in sheer darkness, the voice of the god Danato rumbled all around her: “Don’t you hear me, Lucia?”
Why do you even ask?
“Why do you not answer your Lord?”
Damn you for making me feel sick again! Because you’ve invaded my bed and dreams at twenty-nine, just as you did when I was a girl?
“Only one god dwells in the dark. Do you believe I wished to be Him?”
More godsdamned theology.
“I did not. I chose the lot I had to choose. That is the nature of free will, for both gods and men. Choosing and wishing are not the same. Soon you and your brother will know this, too.”
How long can a narcissistic god talk to himself?
“If none of us had made the black underworld their home, you would have no gods or goddesses. My sister Ysa could not exist without me. Remember, you are called to worship us all.”
And I neither wished for that, nor chose it.
“We chose Rezzia and made your people special. We gave you religion and noble purpose. We watch over you. Yet you reject me, Lucia.”
You traumatized an innocent girl and want acceptance? Perhaps it’s forgiveness you’re after? I still remember the sensation of my own flesh burning, even though it was only a dream.
“The truth is that I love you, now and forever. Sleep deeper, my daughter. Sleep deeper.”
She awoke to eerie sunlight shining through the canopy of her royal yurt, and was appalled to find a crowd waiting for her. Ten Rezzian guards stood in their cream tunics, with their backs to her bed. From this angle, with their identical wide belts and sheathed swords, it was impossible to tell them apart.
She bolted up and tightened the belt on her robe. “What is this?” As she ran her fingers through her long hair, she found all of it soaked with sweat. A rotten, sweet odor filled the air.
Five guards stepped right and five stepped left, giving her a view of a tattered family of four, more sufferers of the new plague. The four of them sat with their legs folded and stared down shamefully at the elegant rug. The little boy and girl leaned against their mother, their bare feet twitching.
“Madame, we couldn’t leave them outside.”
The father lifted his head slightly but kept his gaze downward. “Madame Lucia, we are dying. We need the grace of the Haissem. Can you grant us the gods’ mercy? At least heal our children, if nothing more. Please!”
“He will be here soon. My brother will surely heal you.” She stood up and itched to do it herself.
“We can’t wait days. Last night my son stopped breathing. We were sure he had died. He’s still with us, but for how long? His episodes come at all times. Please.”
“Our only son,” the mother said with a whimper.
“I can pray for you,” Lucia said, “but you may still need to wait. Our Haissem is leaving Remaes this morning. He should arrive in six days.” She took a few steps toward them.
The soldier nearest to her warned, “It is not safe, your grace. Please stay where you are.” By law, the soldiers could not touch her without her permission.
The boy, no older than four, fell forward onto his stomach and began choking violently. He fought to suck in air, but his lungs wouldn’t expand. His arms flailed as his parents fell to their knees and covered him with their hands.
Lucia ran to the boy and lifted him into her arms. His tiny face flushed with pain and begged her to save him. Ysa, this child is innocent. Whatever the reason for this plague, it had nothing to do with him. Appeal to Mya. Grant them Her grace.
The boy went limp then, his little head hanging off her elbow. Lucia’s dark eyes flared with indignation as she heard Danato’s voice again.
“They are dying, Lucia. Children, parents, grandparents, and soldiers. Sadly, this boy will die soon too. But there is a reason for all things.”
Lucia turned and thought she saw a blur of black skin, but no one was there. No one else seemed to hear the voice. She relaxed and shook her head. The girl grabbed Lucia’s leg. The parents began to wrestle the boy from her, almost fighting over the corpse.
“Gian, it’s your father. Wake up, boy. Breathe for me. Breathe!”
The mother wailed. She yanked him away and pressed his body to her chest. His arms and legs dangled like a doll’s.
Lucia’s tormentor-that bastard!-had done the killing, but made her feel responsible. His words told her yet again that she was dreaming, but these torturous dreams just ripped open the old wounds. She would never forget Gian’s dying eyes and shuddered with rage over knowing the boy would eventually die from this plague.
“Arrows, arrows, arrows. So many burning arrows, Lucia. Thousands of your soldiers dying with each battle, as if the gods of Lux Lucis have forgotten Rezzia. Yet your men feel they honor us. You will watch them fall for a decade more.”
Lord Danato had been saying this every night, and it still made no sense to her. The war against Pawelon was already in its tenth year. Rezzia was now resolved to see it through one way or another. The long record of history was clear: After a Haissem commands Rezzia’s armies, historic victories come swiftly.
Pawelon’s ancient citadel should be conquered soon. Her father had deemed Caio ready to assume the role of Dux Spiritus, even though her brother wasn’t mentally ready to lead armies and kill the Pawelon pigs. But her father’s strategy was still sound. Once Caio enters the valley and brings his divine grace, the godsdamned war should be won within a year, if not a moon. Not bloody ten.
#
Lucia woke up horrified, threw the soaked red sheet to the floor, and stood up on the other side of the bed. She tossed away her robe. Her fingers began feverously scratching their way down her arms and legs, trying to destroy the blood stains. Failing, she reached down for her long black gloves and stretched them all the way along her arms and over her muscled biceps.
She rushed over to her great-grandmother’s antique chest and pulled out an earthy cloak that she quickly tied around herself. She ran to the only means of entry to her yurt, its double doors, and pushed them open. Outside, ten soldiers stood tall and disciplined. The desert air was still brisk. In a few hours it would feel like a sauna.
“Have any of you been here the entire night?”
“No, your grace. Only half.”
“Did anyone come in here?”
“No madame, is there anything wrong?”
She commanded to them find the men who stood guard the first half of the night, but they also said no one came near her chamber. Lucia returned to the room and slammed the doors. She looked across the room at the bloody sheet and examined her body again. She hadn’t bled from anywhere. The blood was not hers.
A warpriest’s voice sang out over the early hours at the camp and called the men to worship. She stood still, her mind racing and questioning whether the black god had done it himself.
“Bring me warm water and cloths for a bath,” she said through the door.
#
Lucia scrubbed repeatedly at the obstinate stains. Once certain the blood was washed away, she pulled the sopping cloth slowly along the firm contours of her beige skin and recalled a bitter montage of recent dreams. She ran her dripping fingers down her accursed arms, now forced to bear even greater burdens, then she stood up with sudden conviction. There is no other option left.
While dressing, she looked to the goddess Ysa’s martial relics for strength. Ysa’s shield and sword rested on a wooden stand beside her equally ancient armor. She remembered how many royal men and women throughout history carried them, and all the great miracles they focused through the blessed metal to protect her people.
The shield was a geometrical work of art, at least a thousand years old. Its roundness evoked perfection, and its face scintillated with hundreds of tiny crimson and golden gemstones forming ten concentric circles.
The white sword was immaculately symmetrical, made of an inscrutable metal that still had not been re-created anywhere on the planet of Gallea. Its grip was striped by two colors, bright yellow and white, which curled their way down the handle a dozen times until they met a golden crystalline pommel.
Lucia closed her eyes and asked Ysa for resolution, then sat at her small desk littered with correspondence. She stared at the blank page, breathed deeply ten times, and picked up the quill. She labored to compose the first half of the letter, then reached a burning pitch as long-withheld truths erupted onto the page.
Beloved Caio my Haissem,
It is the beginning of my eighth day in the valley. It’s another world, this war, like the tales of Lord Danato’s underworld hell. By Ysa’s grace, I have not been injured, though the battles have been fierce.
Finally yesterday, something occurred to encourage my sanity. I celebrated your ascent to Dux Spiritus with our soldiers and warpriests. We remained in our camp and worshipped together before we saw the great flash when the sun reached its zenith. Such a deep silence took root in us, a hundred thousand praying together. I will always regret not having been there for the ceremony, but my abilities have been needed in father’s absence.
I do not wish to put any more weight on your shoulders, but the fighting has been gruesome, and our Strategos Duilio, who is remarkable even in his old age, says their archers have become even more deadly over the last year. It is as if we have been cursed by the dark spirits they command. With you here, I know this will change. Everyone I have talked to here believes in you, and will rejoice in seeing you.
There is something else I must tell you now, Caio, and it is a grave thing. I have never wanted to burden you with my troubles, and until now I never felt I had to. I did not come to this decision lightly, for you will see it has the greatest implications. Please trust I am not mad.
The Black One hounds me, brother. He has ever since you were born. Lord Danato comes to me in dreams and visions and tries to speak to me, though I have rarely given him the pleasure of an answer. I have never before seen a reason to burden you with any knowledge of this, but now he comes to me with matters involving you and all of Rezzia.
In the past he would come on occasion, but recently he has been relentless. He has visited me every night for at least a moon, burdening my soul with so many things I will never be able to mention to anyone.
I must tell you, his dark prophecies have always proven true, and now he is terrifying me about the war. He connects it with the new plague. He shows the fighting raging for another ten years, even after you join it. The record of history makes it very hard for me to take this seriously, but he is an insistent god. We both know that ten more years of fighting is not an option, assuming it is even possible.
Please pray to Oderigo and Mya. Perhaps channel a scripture directly from Lord Oderigo. Find out if Danato’s vision is to be taken seriously, and if it is, how we can alter it. I have always felt powerless before him and his demands on me. In his presence, I feel like a little girl, awkward and angry and unable to speak my voice or conquer any fears.
I must go. Please give Ilario my best and tell him I look forward to seeing him. I am sure you are growing even closer together now. I hope to be the first to welcome you both to our army’s camp. Then I know we will watch a golden history unfold.
The light will come.
By Ysa’s Grace,
Lucia
She exhaled a heavy sigh. Her body still felt disturbed.
The din of soldiers mobilizing was all around her. A soldier spoke through the doors, “Madame, the armies are gathering. They will march soon.”
Lucia glanced again at Ysa’s sword and shield. “I am coming.”
Chapter Six: Cranes in a Stormy Sky, Obscured by Dust
After seeing the solar flash and understanding its portent, Pawelon’s prince left his nation’s capital city of Kannauj on a journey to the ancient citadel. Since the start of the war nine years ago, his father, giant Rajah Devak, had led the nation from inside the mountainous fortress, perched on the edge of the desert canyon separating the lands of Pawelon from Rezzia. The people of Pawelon could thank the stone structure for thus far preventing their defeat and subjugation.
After recently finishing his lifelong training as a sage with the highest evaluations in decades, Rao decided to join the war even though his father forbade it. He arrived shortly after sunrise, five days after Rezzia’s Haissem ascended to Dux Spiritus. After a brief reunion with his father-one in which the rajah smashed the back of his hand against his son’s face-Rao was sent into the field alongside steel-eyed General Indrajit in order to support Pawelon’s troops on a unique engagement …
Rao struggled to remain centered in the midst of Pawelon’s army as they marched into the valley. A well of emotional pain gushed within, aftershocks of his father’s blow. He breathed in and out in specific ratios, attempting to assert control over his feelings. In: One … two … three. Out: One … two … three … four … five … six.
Rao knew he’d be useless if General Indrajit, who walked beside him, needed him to access his powers. Effectiveness as a sage depended on acute presence of mind, detached observation of all internal and external phenomena. Both the inner and outer worlds were pummeling his awareness.
The troop created a menacing spectacle: thundering footsteps, fanged long spears raised high, the death of hope in their eyes. Subtle vibrations of hauteur and fear blanketed the atmosphere, nationalistic pride palpable to Rao’s canny senses. His years of training rescued him from distraction as he concentrated on his breath. In: one … two … three. Out: one … two … three … four … five … six.
Baked earth chafed his sore feet, even through his thick sandals. The desert felt increasingly oppressive as the sun climbed, and as they descended the sloping path. Red cliffs besetting the winding passage blocked most of the sky. Directly above, heavy clouds moved at a remarkable speed. Odd, he observed. The air felt thick with humidity. T
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