“He would not have wanted you to kill yourself.”
“Through his death, Ilario woke me and gave me life. He showed me reality. He had tried to tell me before, but I did not understand then.”
“Nonsense!” Lucia turned around and kicked over the wooden bench behind her. It knocked hard against the bench behind it. “His death was nothing more than Danato’s perversity. He only wanted to torture us! We practically asked him to do it.”
Caio stepped forward to keep the same short distance between them. “Ilario told me the killing of fewer men is better than the killing of more men. Lives can be saved through warfare. It is a reality of this world I have to accept.”
“Maybe, but Ilario wouldn’t have wanted you to abandon your principles or to sacrifice yourself.”
“Ilario understood the value of sacrifice. He would’ve gladly died for me. I’m doing my best and learning that I can’t please everyone.” Caio’s eyes narrowed as his face grew serious. “Now please listen to me. Listen. If I die, I want you to fight on. I have already told Father this. You should continue fighting without me.”
Lucia looked at him incredulously.
Then even your death wouldn’t end this war.
“And if I am the victor, we will have an army to conquer. I doubt they will relinquish their citadel. But our victory would be made easier with the death of their prince. That is why I must go to fight him. He has assaulted you, and I will not allow it again.”
“Neither outcome will end the fighting, then! And you think that is what Ilario would’ve wanted? Then he died for nothing.”
Caio grabbed her arms and his eyes dove into her soul. “He wanted victory, Lucia. He wanted to see us help the people of Pawelon and he wanted our people to be proud.”
“I’ve lost both of you now. Ten curses upon Lord Danato.”
“Lord Danato is a god of Lux Lucis. As he acts, so do The Ten. They are one.”
She pulled herself away from his hands. “I will protect you until the day I die—that includes today. I made that promise just before our mother died. You have no idea the sacrifices I have made for you, though I chose to make them.”
“I thank you and I ask you to pray for me, Sister. But today you must leave me to fight the darkness alone. I am a man now. And I am called by prophecy and by tradition to win over this evil. If you were to interfere, our agreement with Pawelon says that you should be turned over to them and put to death.”
“Of all the men in this world, I never thought I’d see you go insane. Here you are, just like all the rest.”
“I hope to prove you wrong. Let me fulfill my own destiny.”
“To die young?”
Caio gently raised his hands. “Why do you believe I will die? Don’t you believe in the Rezzian tradition? Look at my hands!” Caio put forward his arms with his tattooed palms facing upward. “Do you think our gods will kill me?”
“Caio,” Lucia dropped her head in defeat and resisted the urge to collapse to the floor. “Lord Danato came to me again last night. He promised me something.” She breathed through a tight sensation in her chest and battled against her angst to speak the words.
“Whatever it is, I want to know,” Caio said.
“He promised me that something will soon happen that will haunt me the rest of my life.”
“We will heal it.” Tears began welling in Caio’s eyes. “Whatever it is, we will call on the goddess Mya. She will grant you her grace.”
“The Black One promised me.” She squeezed her fists tight as she raised them in frustration and felt the dark leather stretching around her fingers. “He promised me the war can end soon, but not without more senseless killing.”
“And?”
She walked close to Caio again. “He said this war will not and cannot end before one of you dies—either you or Pawelon’s prince.”
Lucia placed her hand on Caio’s cheek and put the sides of their faces together. She kissed him and pulled away.
Caio’s eyes seemed wider and more sensitive than ever before. Lucia noticed every detail of his appearance. His wavy hair rolled beautifully around his ears and onto his shoulders. His smooth, full lips still formed an optimistic countenance. You are innocent still. She burned this image of him onto her memory as a tear crawled down her cheek.
Lucia wiped it away with one finger and pressed the tear onto Caio’s lips. She held his hands in her own and searched his oceanic eyes for as long as she could bear.
She turned away, leaving him in the temple, alone.
Chapter 55: To Shape the World
BONE HORNS MOANED like the cries of woolly beasts, announcing the march to the duel. The armies of Pawelon had come down into the valley and assembled behind a disciplined front running from north to south. Rao took a step into the vast space between himself and the Rezzian army to the east. With no wind blowing, his face felt like meat roasting under the sun.
Anxious nerves electrified him as he prepared to speak to his men. He turned back to the west, looking left to right without seeing the end of the Pawelon front line.
He extended his right hand and Aayu clasped it with his own. Aayu pulled him forward and they reached their arms around each other’s shoulders. Aayu wrapped a hand around the back of Rao’s neck and pulled him closer until their foreheads touched and Rao could smell his bhai’s breath.
“It’s your time. Go and send the dogs away.”
With intense, unformed emotions stirring inside him, Rao patted his friend’s stocky chest twice by his heart. Rao breathed to clear his mind. He took seven deliberate steps backward into the dead valley and faced the wall of men. The soldiers’ faces formed a stoical line above their armor and shields. Rao felt awkward and exposed with his arms dangling at his side, so he widened his stance and raised a clenched fist. A chorus of metal and motion ensued as Pawelon's army mirrored his posture.
Rao began, “The sage Naganjuma wrote these words more than eight hundred years ago: ‘To the bold, to the shaper of worlds, goes the creation of the spoils. This is our greatest duty.’” He paused to let the words resonate, then spoke with as much conviction as he could command.
“The fruits of men’s enterprises are not found so much as they are chosen. They do not exist outside of us like treasure, but are created out of our own beliefs and philosophies. This is why our desires must be questioned before we undertake any great endeavor. If our values are flawed, our actions can only produce imperfections.
“Pawelon is a land of mystical insight. We are shapers of reality, but only if we can accept this power and wield it with brave intent. Do we have the courage to examine the first cause?” He swallowed into his dry throat and attuned himself to the silence within.
“Have we fulfilled our highest duty if we accept the means of the past as evidence of future necessity? Introspection, clarity, and creative imagination must come before action.”
He scanned the faces of the men before him and stopped at Aayu, noticing his friend’s clenched jaw and piercing eyes.
“I have a better vision of life on Gallea, and that is why I go now to follow Naganjuma’s call. To shape the world.”
Rao turned toward the Rezzian horde massed on the other side of the valley, but focused on the ground. He walked mindfully toward the conflict, feeling the contact between the heel and ball of each foot with the uneven ground, each step making his former life recede further from his being.
His days with Narayani existed only in the past, merely a memory, traces of smoke.
Far distant from his own men, Rao spied the form of his rival walking through the heat of the desert. Rao took seven final steps. Though his heart beat faster, his mind rested in a vast calmness within, an emptiness brewing with unsettled passion.
Chapter 56: Dying to Believe
THE RAISED PLATFORM at the front of the Rezzian line gave Lucia and her father, and their guards, an unobstructed but distant view of the conflict. Caio appeared smaller and smaller as he wandered o
ut to meet Pawelon’s prince. The waiting was too much to bear.
“There,” her father pointed across the open space.
Lucia stood and squinted through the haze of desert heat. “I see their prince.”
A sick feeling assaulted her stomach like a heavy club, and she fell awkwardly back into her chair to avoid collapsing and making a scene. Her fall did not go unnoticed. Two perfumed attendants brought her water and wet cloths and begged to help her. Lucia sat as tall as she could. Her left hand slowly massaged her belly. She drank the first glass of water quickly, then swatted the people away. “I am fine,” she said. Her weak voice betrayed her assurance.
“Lucia.” Her father looked at her with what she believed was a delusional gleam in his eyes. “We are to witness a Haizzem fulfilling his great destiny.”
Then why aren’t I with him?
Her father looked again at the distant figures. “Caio will be the one to find a way to win this war. If Pawelon does not surrender today, our men will win it gloriously under his command.”
Lucia looked out to the west. “They are tricksters, all of them.”
“Caio and I approved this, along with our commanders.”
“This will not end well.”
Her father almost pleaded, “It is with Lord Oderigo's guidance and the goddess Mya’s protection. The Ten are with us. Pray to your goddess, my daughter. Do not fill your spirit with worry when Caio needs us most.”
He extended his hand to her, resting it on the cushioned arm of her chair. She waited, knowing how he would interpret her hesitation, without caring about his feelings. She looked across at the blur of a massive Pawelon army to the west.
“I have faith in him,” she said, finally placing her hand in her father’s spacious palm.
It’s the gods I don’t trust.
Her vision lost focus as she remembered distant scenes …
She sat, thirteen years old, at the feet of the guards, waiting for Caio to wake up. Finally, little Caio’s feet pattered on the cool palace floor and she was given entrance to his chamber. It smelled of religious incense and the walls were painted with scenes of vine-covered Oderigo and Mya. She immediately handed him his favorite toy, a large wooden horse carved of oak, and his joyful exuberance warmed her young, troubled heart.
He hugged her legs as hard as his infant body could. “I want sweets now,” he said.
“Not until you have soup and bread …”
By the gods, she didn't want to cry, not in front of her father. But she couldn't stop the tears.
Caio heard the growling Pawelon horns, the distant, heavy bleating signaling that Prince Rao would be coming to meet him. Caio had been walking for some time, so he squatted to give his foe time to catch up. He wanted to meet him in the middle of the canyon, exactly as they had agreed.
Mya’s rod buzzed with subtle spiritual energy in Caio’s left hand. He stared at the smooth wooden shaft of Ilario’s spear in his right hand. He placed the spear on the rocky ground in front of him and prayed to Ilario’s spirit with both hands together:
Give me strength, Ilario, so there will be justice.
Caio rubbed his right palm flat on the crusty ground, feeling the gravelly stones press into him. A lone raven’s heavy wings flapped above him.
After scraping his hand, his raised his dark palm close to his face. It looked even redder, stinging enough to remind him of the vulnerability of his physical form.
“I am ready to fight for you, Lord Oderigo. I am prepared for your spiritual war.”
Vine-covered Lord Oderigo loomed over his unaware patron with frozen posture, watching with black eyes like tunnels stretching into a starry nothingness.
“I am not afraid to kill him. I am no longer afraid to kill any of them. I pray that this pleases you.”
A mild breeze swept a dry leaf across the desert.
“Will you watch over me today, God of Prophecy? I seek to embody your word.” Caio looked around at the giant red cliffs to the east and the west.
“Would you show yourself to me now? I go to fight, perhaps to die. Might I see your tall shoulders once more?”
No? I take no offense, my Lord.
The god walked the remaining distance with Caio, waiting until Caio glimpsed Pawelon’s prince. The god halted and watched Caio walk to the west to meet his adversary. With no expression on his face, Lord Oderigo turned back toward the Rezzian army and walked away.
Chapter 57: The Line Between Men and Gods
REZZIA’S HAIZZEM APPEARED as a distant figure holding a spear in his right hand, waiting for Rao in the desert. Rao recognized the flowing hair and assumed the robe was a cremos, but he couldn’t make out his enemy’s face.
The spear. A shiver of fear washed over him. My karma returns to me?
He shifted his attention to his body, feeling the pulse and hum of his blood and organs. As he went deeper beyond the physical body, he felt an energetic disturbance throughout his muscles. As he probed deeper he recognized the congestion as a dark inner vision, an imagining—or was it a remembrance?—of his mother’s killing.
He returned his attention to the Rezzian’s form and thought about driving the same spear though the Haizzem’s heart.
Rao’s being filled with purpose. He willed himself to change, then followed an instinct arising from deep within to expand his spirit far beyond his physical constraints and senses.
He felt himself merging with the sky throughout the valley. With a quiet intention, he transformed into a state of being lighter than air.
He was ecstasy. Ecstasy expanded outward. Space posed no obstacles. Time ceased, a state of consciousness he had never before achieved. He recognized the fuel burning in him, pushing him there:
Passion.
Rao’s expanded being swept toward the Haizzem like an invincible gale force.
Caio watched the Pawelon’s form disperse into the air as if consumed by a great wind.
A moment later, Caio’s skull cracked against the earth.
He lay flat on his back, disoriented, pressed down by an irresistible weight. His fingers clenched; Mya’s rod remained in his left hand, Ilario’s spear in his right.
The invisible force dragged his body against the ground in a wide circle, scraping and punishing his skin. As his flesh grated against the hard earth, he watched Ilario’s spear scraping over the uneven ground. Caio recalled his friend’s death: Ilario lying on his back, killed by his own spear.
Caio clutched Mya’s rod with all his strength, begging it to save him. The wooden rod felt like a raging waterfall in his hand. His body slowed. His own grunts became louder than the chaotic rustling of the desert floor. Caio stood with pain searing him and raised the spear above his shoulders, squeezing it. The muscles of his arms soon burned from exertion. Heaving breaths flew from his dry mouth.
The Pawelon’s form coalesced before him like sands poured into a translucent hourglass. Caio brought Mya’s rod before his heart and focused its power, pressing it against his chest. As the Pawelon materialized, a watery prison manifested around him. The Pawelon yelled muffled words as Caio’s heart erupted with sorrow and rage. He focused his strength on the rod and spear to take his mind off his injuries and stormed forward.
“How many times have you attacked my sister?”
“How many Pawelon women would your people rape?”
“We’ll crush your soldiers and show your suffering people the way of light!”
The Pawelon closed his eyes, apparently drawing on another power.
Goddess of the Great Waters, destroy him!
Rao drew his attention inward again—
A chaotic racket roared into his ears. He found absolute blackness. Frigid cold submersion. Water pressed against his skull, threatening to crush him. The pressure escalated, casting pain all over. His skin and muscles caved inward, compressing. His lungs expelled every drop of air.
It barely registered that his body was at an inhospitable oceanic depth. His spirit detache
d, allowing him to witness his body’s end.
The desert spun around him, soft blue skies stretching into forever, red canyon walls soaring like giants. Below his incorporeal awareness, his shriveled body lay. His spirit retained the barest connection to his pummeled flesh. Though his mind and spirit remained agile, his body had been wrung to the brink of death.
Death.
It seemed so close.
Narayani, Aayu. My father, the rajah with no sons. How will they take the news?
Rezzia’s bruised Haizzem walked to him, holding the spear low in his slack arm.
Rao focused his mind past the veil of the physical world. His spirit diffused into everything within thirty paces of his body. Feeling that space as a single whole, he whipped the ether into a frenzy, scattering the building blocks of matter until nothing would be comprehensible by the senses.
He knew the Haizzem would be caught up in the effect. He hoped the man would be trapped as Rao tried to locate his body and renew his life force again.
But Rao couldn’t find his body. Instead, his subtle awareness was ejected from the space it had entered. The environment around him reverted to normalcy again. He could do nothing to stop it.
Rao remained a spirit without a body and could again see Rezzia’s Haizzem walking toward his physical form. Time extended slowly, warping and stretching the appearance of everything around him. A preternatural figure appeared, standing beside his abused body. He looked Rezzian, but impossibly tall, with vines covering his shoulders.
Their god Oderigo, he realized. Rao sent his thoughts to the god, “Why do you come, phantom?”
“To witness history,” the god thought back to him. Oderigo’s words echoed with a deep and otherworldly timbre.
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