Sun Warrior

by P. C. Cast

  “Soon? I thought you said the Goddess would not be awakened until you conquer the City in the Trees. We have already spoken about the army it will take to defeat them—that the People must be made ready, that there are too few Harvesters and Hunters to attack even a weakened Tribe successfully.” She spoke slowly, carefully, focusing on logic and keeping the dread and panic from her voice.

  “There will be no more Harvesters and Hunters. There will only be Reapers—those chosen by the Death God to follow Him, to do His will.”

  “Surely that will take some time. You only have nine Reapers. They cannot take a city filled with the Others,” she said.

  “They could not take a city filled with the Others. That was in the past. Now a God leads our People. What chance does a wounded city have against Death Himself, especially when they created the fire that called Death to walk among them?”

  “None,” Dove heard herself say as she repressed a shudder of revulsion. “None at all.”

  “You do understand, my precious one!” He bent and kissed her again, this time lingering on her lips, deepening the kiss.

  Dove began to soften to him. He was still her Champion, her emancipator, her hero—the only person she had ever loved. She clung to him, silently willing Dead Eye to stay with her—to fight the possession of the God.

  But as his caresses became more urgent, more filled with desire, Dove felt him change. It was a subtle shifting—much like the change that happens when one goes from being awake to falling into the world of dreams. And then Dead Eye was gone. She knew it before He spoke. She felt it in the texture of His touch and in the quality of His presence. Even His scent changed from Dead Eye’s familiar smell of earth and pine and clean, honest sweat to something darker, more pungent and base.

  “Ah, little bird, you are an attractive mortal. I do appreciate Dead Eye’s choice in a mate. You will make a delectable vessel for my Goddess.” Death spoke with His lips against her ear as He penetrated her.

  She said nothing. She did nothing except remain still beneath Him, allowing the God to use her.

  “So soft … so young … so alive,” He murmured as He thrust roughly into her.

  She said nothing, which seemed to please Him. With a roar He quickly spent Himself.

  Dove was grateful that He didn’t remain with her as Dead Eye would have, cuddling her close afterward while they talked of their future. Instead, the God stood, stretching mightily before He pulled on His breeches.

  “Ah, it is good to be awake! Make ready! When I return we feast on the rest of the boar meat,” Death said to her. “The Reapers and I will be ravenous.” He bent and cupped her breast, squeezing it painfully. “For more than just food, but that will come after we eat.”

  Dove was careful not to cringe from Him, careful not to let any hint of disgust be heard in her voice. “My Lord, may I ask where you are going?”

  “To the City in the Trees, of course.”

  Dove folded her hands together so that He would not see that they trembled. “Are You conquering the city today, my Lord?”

  “It is good you are so eager to become divine. That pleases me, little bird. The City in the Trees was conquered the moment I awoke, though they do not yet know it. I have some small things I must do before I take possession of their city and make it my own, but do not fret; it will be soon, very soon.”

  Then, without another word to her, He left their bed. Striding through the God’s chamber, he began shouting for Dove’s Attendants to bring drink and food and to command Iron Fist to join him on the God’s balcony.

  Forgotten, Dove made her way to the far corner of the chamber where the Attendants always kept troughs of freshwater for drinking and bathing. Dove washed herself, over and over, wiping away every vestige of Death’s loathsome touch.

  “Mistress, may I help you?” Lily’s voice was filled with concern and Dove could feel the God’s attention shifting in her direction. She shook her head, waving away her Attendant.

  “No, I do not need your help, but your Champion does. Did I not hear him call for food and drink?”

  “Yes, Mistress,” Lily said, sounding contrite.

  Dove hated speaking harshly to the girl. She was young and kind and wished only to serve her, but Dove steeled herself. The time for weakness and sentiment was gone. The God of Death had banished it.

  “Then do as he commands.”

  “Yes, Mistress!” Lily hurried away, and as she did Dove felt the God’s attention turn from her.

  Moments after His food and drink were brought to the balcony, she heard Iron Fist race into the chamber, going directly to the God’s balcony to join Death. Moving with the graceful silence that had kept her invisible to the loathsome Watchers, Dove took a basket of hemp rope that needed to be knotted into fishing nets and went to a shadowy spot near enough to the balcony that her sharp ears could hear while she remained hidden. Her hands worked as she listened with growing dread.

  “Who do you see when you look at me, Iron Fist?” Death asked His Reaper.

  The man did not hesitate. “My leader. My Champion. My God.”

  Cloaked by shadow, Dove’s hands stilled. She had thought the Death God was still masquerading as Dead Eye, the God’s Champion. But she realized she shouldn’t have been surprised. The obvious changes in His body, coupled with the arrogance of the God, should have prepared her. For once Dove was glad she had been born eyeless. Had she eyes, Dove would not have been able to keep from dissolving into tears—and those tears would definitely have been noticed by the God. Instead, she tucked her heartache deep inside her. She would bring it out later and mourn Dead Eye’s loss properly, but only after she found a way to escape the touch of Death.

  “Which of the Hunters and Harvesters I have not yet changed to Reapers is the sickest?”

  Death’s question to Iron Fist broke the morose spell that had settled over Dove, and she mentally shook herself, listening intently once again.

  “That would be Lizard. His skin is very bad,” Iron Fist said.

  “Is he strong enough to join us on a very important mission near the City in the Trees?” the God asked.

  “He has not yet lost all of his strength, but his appearance is loathsome—his skin cracks and sloughs, and he is covered in oozing blisters.”

  “Excellent! Get Lizard. Bring him here to my chamber. We will paint our skin to camouflage us, and then you and he will join your God on a mission of the utmost import. After you call for Lizard, command all of the People to gather in the courtyard below. I have a question to put to them.”

  “Yes, my Lord.” Dove heard the reverence in Iron Fist’s words. Before he could hurry from the chamber Dove moved soundlessly from her shadowy corner, taking her weaving supplies and making her way to the warmth of a firepot. There she sat, appearing busy with her net making, and waited for what terrible thing would happen next.

  “Dove! Come to me!”

  Smoothing her face into the benign listening expression that had helped her survive the sixteen winters of her life before Dead Eye had freed her from the abuse of the Watchers, Dove walked the familiar path to join Death on the God’s balcony.

  “I am here, my Lord.”

  “Excellent. I need you to command your Attendants to ready the body paint. None of the white paint, though. Tell them to mix forest colors—greens, browns, and blacks. And tell them to hurry!”

  “Yes, my Lord. Where shall I have them bring the paints?”

  “Here, to my balcony. Iron Fist and Lizard will be joining us. The People will be gathering below. It is my desire to speak to them before Iron Fist, Lizard, and I go to the forest.”

  “It will be as You command, my Lord.” Dove bowed low and backed quickly from the balcony. “Lily! Your Champion has orders for you.”

  The girl was by her side in an instant. “Yes, Mistress?”

  “Mix the tubs of body paint for three of our men. Your Champion commands you only use forest colors. Quickly! The People will be gathering
to watch.”

  “Yes, Mistress!” Her bare feet padded against the tile floor as she rushed from the chamber.

  While her Attendants did the God’s bidding, Dove went to the private space she had shared with Dead Eye. She dressed carefully. She did not know what the God was planning, but she was certain He would somehow put her on display, and her survival depended upon whether or not her appearance and her actions pleased Him. By the time she’d donned her most decorated skirt and brushed her long hair free of tangles, Iron Fist had returned to the God’s balcony. Dove knew the badly infected Lizard was with him—she could smell the stench of his rotting flesh and she heard the wheeze in his breath that foretold his end was not far away, that soon he would drown in his own blood and puss and be free of the misery of his diseased body.

  “You may join me on my balcony,” the Death God called when Iron Fist and Lizard hesitated, waiting for permission to enter the presence of the massive statue that most of the People still believed was their Reaper God. “Dove! Bring your Attendants here when they return with the body paint.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” Dove called.

  She was inside the chamber, but Dove could hear the sounds of the gathered People lifting from the courtyard below. She could smell the gamey scent of boar stew that wafted through the open balcony and she knew that the aroma of food and the promise of a full stomach would draw even those of the People who might not come quickly at the command of a Champion they were not certain they needed.

  He is wily, this Death God, Dove acknowledged silently. I must always remember that.

  “Mistress, we have the body paints ready,” Lily said.

  “Very good. Follow me to the God’s balcony.”

  Inside the Temple, Dove needed no guide. She knew every step of the chamber and the God’s balcony, so she lifted her chin and walked gracefully, with the pride her extinct title of Oracle afforded her. She didn’t need to be guided to the Death God, either. She could feel Him, just as she had been able to feel Dead Eye’s presence—except Dead Eye had drawn her to him with love. Death drew her with loathing.

  Dove strode directly to the shell of the man she used to adore. “My Lord, the Attendants have done as You commanded.”

  “Very good, little bird.” He stroked her cheek intimately. Dove forced herself not to flinch away. Then He turned His attention to her Attendants. “You women, I would have you paint my Reaper, Iron Fist, and my Hunter, Lizard, completely with camouflage.” The God spoke to the two men. “Stand near the lip of the balcony so that the People below may see you being anointed for our mission.”

  Then Death surprised Dove. He turned His back to the People and faced her as He spoke in a voice filled with power and authority.

  “My People! You have gathered today to witness a miracle and to answer a question. One is no less important than the other. But first, I must be anointed along with my men. Dove! Come, anoint me!”

  Dove didn’t know what the God was planning. She only knew she was trapped in His waking dream and she must play her part or perish. Lily pressed three pots of sticky dye mixture into her hands. Dove could not hesitate, so she moved with feigned confidence forward until her outstretched hand met with His skin. He was standing near the lip of the balcony, facing Dove. She knew that from below the People could see some of His body but not all of it. Dead Eye had insisted that they address their People from atop the balcony ledge, where they could easily be seen from below. She had no idea why the God chose to hide part of Himself from the People. She didn’t care. And Dove didn’t allow confusion to slow her hands. The quicker she worked, the sooner she’d be able to stop touching Him. She scooped the muddy paint with her fingers and began slathering it on the God’s enormous body. He’s grown so much bigger! The thought helped her by giving the being before her yet another degree of separation from the man she had loved with all of her heart.

  Dove worked quickly. The God had a deerskin cloak hanging from His wide shoulders, but except for that and breeches He was naked. Her hands felt the changes in His body. Dead Eye had been a big man—muscular and powerful—but in the short time the God had possessed him he had grown. His shoulders were wider. His muscles were thicker. He was undeniably taller. When she tried to reach around and spread the dye mixture across His back, Death waved away her hands, but not before she felt the deer pelt that had spread to cover His entire back.

  “Just the front of my body, little bird.”

  Her hands did not tremble, though her spirit did. Dove concentrated on her duty, covering the God quickly and efficiently with the thick paint. He did not allow her to touch His hair, though she did paint His face, and as she did Dove felt that He had fashioned a hood for the cloak, which He kept pulled up over His head.

  He hides the horns, she thought. And His hiding of them made her wonder how much they, too, had grown.

  “It is finished, my Lord,” she finally said, taking a small step away from Him.

  “Excellent.” Then He ignored her.

  First, He spoke to the two men. “Mark me. These next moments will change our People for an eternity.”

  Dove heard Him whirl around, His cloak making the sound of a bird’s wings. She imagined that He must be facing the People who were gathered below, gazing up at Him. She took another step back. Reaching with her hand, seeking, and finding Lily’s wrist, Dove pulled the girl another step back with her and whispered, “Describe to me what I cannot see, but quietly so that we do not test His patience.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” Lily said, pitching her voice low for Dove’s ears alone. “Your Dead Eye is moving to the edge of the balcony.”

  Dove’s grip on Lily’s wrist tightened. “Do not ever call Him my Dead Eye again.”

  “Y-yes, Mistress. What shall I call him?” Lily whispered.

  “My Lord, or whatever He commands. Just not Dead Eye. Never again my Dead Eye. What is He doing now?”

  “He has leaped up on the lip of the balcony.”

  “My People, today is the first day of your new lives!” The God’s voice was swollen with power. In the silence between His words, Dove could hear the susurrus of those gathered below as their attention turned upward to the man they had first called Dead Eye and then Champion.

  “Is His head still covered?” Dove whispered.

  “Yes, Mistress,” Lily said quietly. Then, in a puzzled voice, she added, “Mistress, he is turning around, so that his back is to the people.”

  “Behold your awakened God!” Death spoke, and then a monstrous bellow filled the world around them, more powerful than a stag—more horrible than an army of men. His roar was that of a God, newly awakened after eons of slumber.

  “Oh! Oh, Mistress! He has flung off his cloak and … and … He is so very changed!” Through their joined hands, Dove could feel Lily tremble, even though she gripped her Mistress’s hand as a lifeline.

  “I know, Lily. Speak quickly and quietly. Describe Him to me.”

  But as Lily’s tremulous voice told her everything, Dove realized she already knew—her hands had already informed her mind of what the rest of the People were just now being called to witness.

  She already knew what was under the cloak He’d thrown off. She heard the shocked murmurs rise from below as the People saw that the pelt of the stag had merged with the man.

  As He bellowed His inhuman roar to the sky, Dove heard the People’s murmurs change to gasps. She didn’t need Lily to tell her that He had turned to face the watching crowd and revealed the horns growing from the thick fall of mane that had usurped what had once been her beloved’s hair.

  “Oh, Mistress! The People can see all of him now. His head—there are horns growing there! And … and his hair has changed as well. It is—It is—” Her words were broken by her frightened sob.

  Dove squeezed her Attendant’s hand. “S-s-sh, I know. Control yourself or you will draw His attention.” Dove felt Lily’s head nod in acknowledgment and her other hand lift to press against her mouth, stiflin
g her terrified sobs.

  And then, in a voice amplified by dark, divine forces, the Death God spoke.

  “My People! Mark my words, for I shall not repeat them. You worshipped me in one form as the Reaper God, and you were so faithful, so true, that I awoke and claimed the body of my Champion! Now, witness my true form! I am the God of Death, risen from the realm of dreams to the mortal realm to lead you, my chosen People, from this vile, poisoned City to a new life, a new world, a new day! Which of you will be true? Which of you will swear your lives to me?”

  There was a terrible, stretching silence. Dove knew she must hesitate no longer. Her will to survive propelled her forward on legs that were so numb she feared they would crumble beneath her. When she reached the lip of the balcony, she raised her arm up and up to touch Him.

  In a strong, clear voice, Dove proclaimed, “I will be true, my Lord!” She bowed deeply, gracefully, to Him as the voices of the People below buzzed like frightened flies.

  The God touched her chin, lifting Dove from her bow. She stood very still, her sightless face turned up to Him, her back straight and proud, her expression as open and as guileless as it had been when she had fabricated visions to placate the old Watchers who used to hold her life in their hands.

  “Ah, faithful Dove. You please me, little bird. I give you my oath that when my Consort awakens within you, you will be able to see my glory through the eyes of a Goddess. Would that make you happy?”

  “Yes, my Lord,” she lied.

  “In return I will be true to you throughout eternity.” Instead of helping her up to the lip of the balcony to stand beside Him, as Dead Eye would have, the Death God turned His back to her, once more addressing the People. “Dove is the first to worship me. Who will be next?”

  Dove was shoved out of the way as Iron Fist rushed to take her place. She stumbled and would have fallen had Lily not caught her elbow and righted her, pulling her to the side as the Reaper exclaimed, “I will worship and be true to You, my Lord! Always!”