The Daughters of Persephone, A Space Opera Special Edition

by Julia Barrett

  “What…? What agreement?”

  “That I was to be your willing victim. Do you think I am ignorant of the prophecy? I am the Thousand Year Empress, high priest, and I know the prophecy as well as you, better. For you to achieve everlasting glory, I, alone, must be sacrificed, and I must be willing. I find I am no longer quite so willing.”

  She was on him in two steps, slicing into her arm and grabbing him by the hair, forcing open his mouth. “Taste what you seek above all things,” she hissed.

  Her hot blood flowed over his tongue like sweet copper and he swallowed. The fire unleashed in his body by the purity of her blood was a hundred times, a thousand times stronger than that which he’d experienced when he ate the seed cakes. Estian Fermu closed his eyes in ecstasy. He barely noticed when she tossed his head back against the wall.

  “Let them go, the women and children you have in your encampment. Set them free or you will never see me again. I shall vanish from this time and I shall take every man, woman and child of the Blood with me. You will die a failed old man, alone, in a festering sewer in the slums of Ottorum. Once the son of a whore always the son of a whore. Is that how you wish to be remembered? You’ve sold your soul to get me, Estian Fermu. Few men are willing to pay such a price. I am within reach and you are eager. Will you let me slip away now? Will your pride be your undoing?”

  Estian’s head lolled onto his chest. He tried to make his mouth work. “I can call my guards,” he mumbled. “They will take you now.”

  The woman laughed. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? Hear me, priest.” Her voice filled with venom. “Let them go or you will never see me again. Nod if you understand.”

  The priest tried to move his head, but he didn’t know if he’d succeeded or failed. He felt the prick of cold steel in the soft flesh beneath his chin. He heard her voice through ears filled with winat wool.

  “If I could I would end this now,” she said. It seemed to him that her voice had softened. “But then your prophecy would not be fulfilled and we would chase each other in circles through time. Let them go, Estian Fermu, and I will not resist when you press the knife to my throat. Let them go.”

  The priest nodded.

  “Father, Father, thanks be to the One God, you’re awake. Praise the God, Brothers, the high priest is awake.”

  “Brother…? Brother Draghure? Is that you?” Estian’s eyes felt as if someone had rubbed sand in them.

  “Yes, Father, yes… It’s me. I’ve been right here by your side for a day and a half. We haven’t been able to awaken you. No one on the ship, none of our medics, has been able to awaken you. We found blood in your mouth and we worried you had hit your head. Thank the God you’ve come back to us.”

  Estian could feel Brother Draghure patting his hand. “I did not hit…” the high priest began to say, but he thought better of it. He tried to sit but his bones ached and his head throbbed.

  “Here, Father, let me help you.” The man pulled him into a sitting position and shoved a pillow behind his back. “I’ve brought food and drink. Father, I feared the worst. I was beside myself with worry. Father? What is it?”

  Estian closed his eyes again, to try to dispel some of the dizziness and nausea. “Brother, when do we…? When do we land on Calen?”

  “Within a day, Father. The two other transports have already arrived. The glorious Brothers await us.”

  The high priest pushed his sickness aside. Whether he’d dreamed it or no, he couldn’t take the risk. “How many women and children have we collected, how many to sacrifice to the God?”

  “Over three hundred, Father. Over three hundred will be dedicated to God. They are being purified even as we speak.”

  “Let them go.”

  “What?”

  “Let them go. Set them free.”

  “But Father, we’ve gone to great expense to seek out and capture those with the most Royal Blood. We’ve emptied our treasury. The entire Mission, all the Brothers are counting on a share of the Blood. Father, do you know what you are saying?”

  Estian Fermu cast off his blankets and rose to his feet. “Of course I know what I’m saying, Brother Draghure. I’ve tasted the Royal Blood and I’ve seen our path. This isn’t a sickness. I’ve been blessed with a visitation. It is imperative that you order the Brothers on Calen to release the captives now. Order this in my name.”

  “But release them where?”

  “It matters not—into the wilderness, into the nearby villages. Open the gates and send them away. Not a single woman or child is to be touched. Tell them. They must go free or our mission will fail. I know this with a certainty. Do this, Brother, in my name. I take full responsibility.”

  “Yes, Sire.” Dragure’s voice quaked with fear. “But I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t need to understand, my son, you need to obey. That is one of the first rules of our order, is it not? Obedience to God and to the High Priest who speaks with God’s voice. Go and obey.”

  “Yes, Father.” The brother bowed his head and backed out of the cabin.

  Estian Fermu rubbed his hands together, feeling his strength return, no, not his strength alone, the strength of her Blood in him. Although he had lost a day and a half, he knew where he’d gone; he’d been communing with his God. There was no other possible explanation. That was the gift her Blood would bestow upon him, upon them all.

  In giving her up her life, she would allow the Brothers to become one with their God. She would give them the strength to spread their message to all corners of the Empire and no one would stand in their way. Truly, nothing could compare to that God-blessed ecstasy.

  Spent after her long journey, Issa lay by the fire and watched through Upo’s eyes as his horsemen descended upon the snow-covered grasslands two kigs from the Black Frock’s encampment. They surrounded the women and children where they floundered through the deep drifts. On Issa’s orders, the men carried with them food, blankets and warm clothing.

  Every man turned his horse back towards the mountains bearing a woman or a child in front of him. Not a single one of the captives was lost.

  Working with the headmen of three provinces, Issa had already arranged shelter for every refugee. She watched with growing interest as Upo helped a young woman of the Blood to climb up onto his stallion. He settled her in his saddle.

  Issa made a cautious search of the woman’s mind. She was a pilot from the outer reaches of the Empire and she was furious that she’d been taken. A corner of Issa’s mouth turned up. The woman hadn’t made it easy. She’d brought down ten men before they’d finally rendered her unconscious. Her name was Kaia.

  Yes, she would make Upo a fitting partner. Issa felt the direction of Upo’s thoughts and she quickly broke the connection. Some matters were best left private.

  Issa rose from her pallet on the floor and stretched. It was time to sharpen her own weapons while she waited for Upo to return. The battle would take place in two days and Issa found comfort in the knowledge that the men of Calen would win out.

  The end of her battle was not so clear. Sometimes she saw herself alive and whole, most times not. There wasn’t any in-between. Although Issa still nursed the tiny seed of hope Kane had planted in her heart, she couldn’t allow herself to dwell on possibilities. False hope hurt more than no hope at all.

  She’d spoken the truth to the high priest. She knew the prophecy as well as he did. Better, perhaps. She suspected Tem had begun the prophecy in the first place for reasons known only to Tem, probably having something to do with Kane.

  A sacrifice to this dark god required a willing victim, but where the priest expected to gain power from her Royal Blood he would instead receive death. Like Tem, she had the power to heal and the power to kill. Even now, the poison worked on the man, killing him a little at time though he didn’t know it. One more taste of her blood and he would be finished. The lesser Brothers would scatter and her men would cut them down.

  If you want to kill a serp
ent, you remove its head. She’d ordered her men to kill without mercy. She did not want this horror repeated in another five hundred years. If by some chance she lived, she would see to the running of the Imperial government and improve conditions for people throughout the Empire. If she died, she felt confident that the men and women of Calen would protect their way of life until another Thousand Year Empress was born. That was all she could ask.

  Issa and Upo inspected their men. Each warrior was armed with a long knife, a sword made of the finest steel, and a pistol or laze gun. Their horses stomped and pranced, the stallions growing irritable at standing so close to one another in the cold air of the pre-dawn darkness. Twenty thousand men faced forty-five thousand Black Frocks.

  Issa encouraged the men, calling out the names of those she knew, learning the names of those she didn’t know. Calen men were trained swordsmen, and while the Black Frocks would be fighting for their lives, most were untrained and craven. They would flee and her troops would slaughter them.

  Upo’s new mate, Kaia, had insisted upon wearing a sword. She was a poor rider, but Upo had gifted her with an even-tempered gelding. Issa noticed her trying to keep her seat as her horse was jostled among the first wave of fighters. She sought her out, touching her horse as she moved in close, steadying him.

  “You are a welcome addition, sister.”

  The woman bowed her head before her Empress. Issa reached for her hand. “Heal as many of our wounded as you can,” she said.

  Kaia looked at her with surprise. “But my Lady, surely your Blood will have much more effect.”

  “Yes.” Issa smiled, liking her greatly. “Take care of my brother. See that he finds some pleasure in life. Upo is far too serious.”

  The woman blushed and cast her pretty gray eyes down. Issa knew her brother had already found the happiness he deserved. She squeezed Kaia’s hand and forced the woman to lift her head. “Give the battle cry when they make the first cut. That is the sign to attack.”

  “I… I don’t understand, my Lady.”

  “Yes, you understand. You choose not to. Look at me and tell me you can see what I’m talking about.”

  Issa watched Kaia’s eyes fill with tears. “Yes,” she agreed. “I’ll give the cry.”

  “Thank you,” said Issa. “I cannot lay this burden on my brother.”

  Issa squeezed her legs against her horse’s flanks and loped off to join Upo. “Stand with Kaia,” she called to him. “She gives the signal to attack. I’ve linked with her.”

  “I don’t like this,” muttered Upo. “You riding alone and unarmed into the midst of forty-five thousand Black Frocks.”

  “Arms would matter little against forty-five thousand, brother. Besides, the Black Frocks and their rabble are nothing, less than nothing. The high priest wants me for himself; no one else will dare lay so much as a finger on me. Their attention must be on me and I will be on the dais. When all eyes stare forward, swoop down into the meadow like a giant bird of prey and take them all. I will tell Kaia and she will give the cry. Now I must speak to my men.”

  Followed by her brother, Issa rode her mare ahead of the assembled warriors. She turned her horse around to face them. Although she kept her voice muted, in the still winter air it carried to the ear of every man and to the few women who had joined them.

  She called out, “I go before you to clear a path. The Black Frocks believe I bring them eternal life.” Issa’s voice sounded as brittle as the frost upon the branches. “For the sake of Calen, for the salvation of the Empire, I am become the giver of death. Follow Upo Bokinan, son of the Royal Blood. He will lead you to victory.” Issa lifted her sword in a silent salute and just as silent, twenty-thousand men lifted their swords to her.

  As the leading edge of a red winter sun appeared on the horizon, Issa shook loose her long mahogany hair, kicked her horse, and rode off over the small rise that separated them from the Black Frocks.

  She did not look back. She felt relief that the battle would finally be joined and her life would be decided one way or another. Her heart beat steady and her breathing slowed.

  Sometimes one must be willing to lose one’s life to find it, she thought, risk everything to gain everything.

  And if she’d made the wrong choice?

  Well, she could only die once, and today was as good a day as any.

  The sight of her took his breath away. Estian Fermu’s heart beat so hard he thought it would burst from his chest.

  She rode to where he stood on the dais, the sun a ball of red fire rising behind her.

  Without thought he dropped to his knees, her beauty and majesty overwhelming him.

  Every one of the thousands of Brothers followed his example and knelt before their holy sacrifice as she passed by, her pace measured.

  The Thousand Year Empress was coming to him. No high priest in the long line of high priests could make such a claim. Estian knew in his heart what he witnessed now would never be repeated in all eternity.

  At the base of the raised platform, the Empress halted.

  The high priest rose to his feet and waved Brother Draghure forward to take her bridle. The Empress inclined her head and dismounted, smacking her horse on the rump, sending the mare back the way she had come.

  She removed her long knife from its sheath and set it on the lowest step, along with her sword. The priest was awed by the Empress’s humility in the face of his order’s greatness. His spirit soared. Yes, she would make a fitting servant for the Dark God and his own name, Estian Fermu, would live forever in the hearts of men.

  The priest gazed out over the upturned faces of his true believers, his army, the men who would spread the message and continue the sacrifices, and he smiled. A cloud of frost rose above their heads in the dawn as he guided the Empress to the altar.

  He knew the stone must feel like ice against her back, but the Empress lay down without protest.

  Draghure offered him the blessed knife. Hands shaking, he used it to cut the tunic away from her neck and chest. He set the knife back in its case and lifted the heavy golden bowl high over his head in celebration, the bowl that would catch her Royal Blood. At the sight, the ritual chanting began.

  Yes, his God would live in him and he would be unstoppable.

  The touch of the man repelled her. Issa closed her eyes and shut out the ear-splitting dissonant chanting. Their dark superstitions were pathetic.

  Get this over with. Get on with it. Your nonexistent God will not come and you will not live forever, high priest.

  And I am no lamb.

  Issa reached out and grabbed the knife. She felt the priest’s eyes on her. She held it out to him, handle first.

  “I’m ready for death. Are you? Enough singing. Do it.” She dropped the knife onto the floor of the dais.

  Through the priest’s eyes she saw the knife. His shaking hand reached for it and he lifted it to his mouth, kissing the blade, then he held it out so another Black Frock could anoint it with their holy oil.

  Holy oil for an unholy task.

  “I forgive you your blasphemy,” the high priest said in a soft voice, and Issa laughed.

  She opened her eyes and she knew they glowed red. “Spill my Blood, Estien Fermu, before I change my mind.”

  She reached out. Kaia, make ready.

  The priest struck with a suddenness that shocked her.

  Kaia… Now!

  Book III: Reborn

  Kane let out a roar when he saw the priest cut into Issa’s slender neck. Balancing without thought on his stallion’s back he careened through the crush of Black Frocks, power rippling from his body in great waves, parting the men as if he were a holy wind from the heavens above.

  Aja and Kyr followed close on his heels with their forces while the Red Women flew above, blasting the Black Frocks’ transports out of the skies.

  Kane’s eyes saw only Issa, knew only Issa, and the dark red blood that drained from her neck into that Gods cursed bowl. He drew closer, watching in h
orror as the priest brought the bowl to his foul lips to drink her life.

  Almost at the steps of the platform, Kane reached out as if he could somehow stop the priest; stop the bleeding from Issa’s torn jugular. He called out in a voice raw with desperation, demanding that all the Gods and demons in existence save the woman he loved.

  “You have the power.” He heard Tem’s disembodied voice whisper in his ear. “You can do it with a single wave of your hand. Slow time, stop it altogether. Turn time backwards and save her life.”

  “I don’t know how,” cried Kane.

  “Yes, you do. The power lives in you. I have shaped you over the ages. You are my single greatest creation, Kane Tirol. You can save her. Close your eyes, stretch out your hand and let the power flow through you. Trust in my voice. Trust in yourself. Trust in the woman you love. If you won’t let me enter you, then by the Gods allow Issa to be your guide.”

  Kane closed his eyes and dropped from Tristan’s back. He found he could see his own approach through Issa’s fading sight, through the priest’s blood-clouded eyes as he fell to the ground, writhing in the agony of his death throes, through the eyes of the assembled lesser Brothers as they lapped at Issa’s life blood where it stained the platform and the altar, fighting over the bowl like rats over scraps of food.

  A cry of anguish tore from his throat, and with that sound it seemed as if everyone and everything around him froze and he alone could move forward.

  Issa lay still on the altar, pale eyes half-closed, body motionless. Kane could see every individual drop of her blood suspended in time and space. He heard her voice in his head.

  “I stand with one foot in heaven, my love. It is very tempting to go forward. Do you wish to call me back?”

  “Yes, Issa, come back, return to me,” Kane pleaded, though no sound came from his lips. He heard her tinkling laugh.

  “Life with me will not be easy.”

  “I have never desired easy, my love. I desire you. I am committed to a life with you and only you.”