Goddess

by Fiona McIntosh

  “Lazar?” Boaz whispered.

  “Yes?”

  “Tariq feels unwell.”

  “So what?”

  “I said I’d go with him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I know you won’t. I told him you insist none of us wander off alone. He needs to relieve himself and it may take some time. I’m awake and not tired; I’ll go with him. You two can’t be left alone for longer than a few moments anyway before you’re at each other’s throat.”

  “I’ll come, it’s all right,” Lazar grumbled, rousing himself from his blanket.

  “No. It is unnecessary. We’re just behind that dune.” Boaz pointed, lying. “I’ll let Salim know as well. He’s still awake.”

  “You have a few minutes before I’ll arrive to make Tariq feel even more uncomfortable than he already is.”

  Boaz shrugged and began walking over to where Tariq slept. The five of them camped the same way each evening. Salim and Ganya always lay next to the camels; Tariq and he usually stuck fairly close, and Lazar always wrapped himself in his blanket in a lonely spot well away from the four of them.

  “Grand Vizier,” he hissed at the man’s ear.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve told Lazar you’re not well, that you need to relieve your bowels and that I’d come with you because he won’t let anyone move too far alone from here.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m ready to talk.”

  The Grand Vizier clearly needed no further encouragement. He groaned softly as he slowly rolled over and pulled himself to his knees, clutching at Boaz for a helping hand. If Lazar was watching—as Boaz was sure he would be—he would see the Grand Vizier stagger slightly, leaning against his Zar as they disappeared toward the darkness of the dunes.

  Boaz shivered in the cold of the night as his anger settled into something hard and unshakable. His friends had betrayed him. Two people he trusted implicitly: Lazar, whom he loved more than any other man, and Ana, whom he loved above any other. He wished he could talk to Iridor. It was eating away at him that the dwarf, with whom he shared his most intimate thoughts, would desert him at such a critical time, especially after years of being his most trusted confidant. He suddenly wasn’t sure he could forgive Iridor the insult either. He asked nothing of these three people but their loyalty and now each had betrayed him. Perhaps the only person he could trust was the one who professed the greatest love; for all her deceits and cunning manipulations of those around her, Herezah was the only one who had been true to him.

  “We need go no further,” Tariq said, breaking gently into his bitter thoughts. “What has occurred?”

  Boaz knew the Grand Vizier could not see the glare of his expression, but his hesitation was telling and the fury emanating from him was probably all too obvious.

  “Ah, my Zar, you have tested the Spur, haven’t you? What did you discover?”

  “Lazar answered my questions plainly and I suspect truthfully. His loyalty is to Percheron.”

  “I see. So why are we skulking about in the darkness, avoiding the Spur’s hearing?”

  “Because I want to know what you meant earlier,” Boaz demanded. “Don’t play games with me, don’t speak to me in a cryptic manner. If you’ve got something to say, say it plainly, or so help me, Tariq—or whatever your name is—I’ll have Lazar run you through with a sword and I’ll leave your body for the vultures we saw circling earlier.”

  “There is no need to threaten me,” the Grand Vizier replied mildly but in that eerily deep voice he had adopted earlier.

  “Why do you speak like this all of a sudden? What has happened to your voice?”

  “I am being honest with you. I am revealing the true self that you demand to know. Now tell me, what have you discovered?”

  Boaz paused. Nothing about this felt right, but then nothing about his life felt right all of a sudden. He had been treated with the ultimate disrespect by his wife and his most trusted friend. Both swore absolute loyalty to him, whilst behind his back had loyalty only for each other, it seemed. No matter what anyone else said, Boaz knew the deception was true, certainly on Ana’s part. No one could ever know how he could be aware of it or why, but he was. And so he would do the only thing that he could do as Zar, take the only course his father would have demanded. He would kill Ana, cut her throat himself. He would watch the light die in those beautiful sea-green eyes and he would know in his soul that with her death and that of the baby she carried, went his heart. Although he would sire more heirs, beginning immediately, he would never love again, he would never open his hardened heart again, and he would never trust a woman again.

  24

  Maliz didn’t need to see Boaz’s face to know that the young Zar was struggling with his emotions and that something had happened to force his hand. His suggestion to the Zar had been nothing but a ruse—a stab in the dark to see what such wickedness could yield. He had no idea whether the Spur and the Zaradine had sneaked any time alone; he suspected not, given the close scrutiny under which they all lived during that time in the desert. But he had no doubt at all that the pair of them harbored unspoken desires for each other, perhaps even a forbidden love pact. Maliz believed the Zar would not find any possible forgiveness for a cuckolding. “You’ve brought me here, ready to talk. So tell me.”

  “The Khalid man unwittingly betrayed Lazar to the stupid youngster Fayid, who dreams of following in his hero’s footsteps and being a soldier in the Protectorate.”

  “Really?” Maliz could barely keep it from his voice. “What have you discovered?”

  “I shall tell you nothing until you tell me what it is that you are offering and what it is that you were alluding to earlier about your powers. I want to know who you are.”

  “I told you, who I am is irrelevant.”

  “Not to me.”

  “I matter not, trust me. What is relevant is what I can do for you.”

  “Which is?”

  “I hear anger and bitterness in your voice. I presume you want someone to pay for whatever is prompting it. You would not be a Zar if you didn’t believe you have right on your side to take revenge against any offense to the Crown or to you personally.”

  “Go on.”

  Maliz shrugged. “I offer you the ability to take whatever revenge you seek.”

  “How?”

  “I can make you more powerful than you ever dreamed possible.”

  “What makes you think I dream of power?”

  “Surely all rulers enjoy power.”

  “In all likelihood, yes, but not necessarily do they dream of wanting more power than they already have. And I am already the most powerful person in Percheron. I have no design on empire.”

  “Oh, nicely said, Zar Boaz, but either you are not worthy of your title or you’re simply too insular and immature to understand your role.”

  The silence that met his cutting sarcasm was frigid and Maliz half expected Boaz to start howling for Lazar and his trusted blade. But he had to risk it. Had to take the chance that he could blind Boaz with so much anger that he could no longer think in that straight, rational way of his.

  “It seems you wish yourself an early death, Tariq,” Boaz said, and Maliz could hear the control being exerted to keep his voice steady.

  “Not at all. But the time is here for honesty—bluntness even—and you must understand that your very throne is at stake if you continue to allow people to treat you like a child. Your mother probably wishes you were still a baby so that she could run the realm without you; the harem girls probably continue to hope that you are not ready to take much interest in them yet; Ana thinks of you as a boy but lusts for the touch of a real man—a foribidden one; whilst Lazar has clearly always carried a torch for the young woman you have made your wife, marking her with his own scent at the first opportunity. Pez has spent years keeping you young and giggling at his silly antics—you’re the only one who finds him even vaguely amusing. And now the Galinseans are here to
overthrow the boy Zar. Think about it. It’s time for you to show that you are a man, that you alone will make decisions for Percheron. What you’re doing here in the desert is part of that. Don’t be fooled, this will be the making of your reign, but you need to cut yourself away from those who do not serve you as honestly or loyally as I do.”

  “And what do you want? Please don’t insult me by saying you just wish to serve, I no longer believe that.”

  “I serve Zarab.”

  “Zarab? What has our god to do with this?”

  “Everything!” Maliz laughed softly. It was the most honest word he’d spoken to the Zar since he’d taken over Tariq’s body.

  “I don’t understand. You are my Grand Vizier but you talk as though you wish to be a priest.”

  “You don’t have to understand. You just have to know that what motivates me is embedded in the notion of serving my god.”

  He watched Boaz step away, hands on hips under the moonlight. “I’m lost, totally lost.”

  “Do you recall the name Maliz?”

  “The warlock-turned-demon from myth who supposedly turned Beloch and Ezram to stone?”

  “The very one. Well, I support his notion to keep Percheron’s faith clean, untainted by those who work to see the Goddess Lyana returned to her pedestal.”

  “You jest!”

  “No. I speak only the truth. I am not interested in riches or the sort of power that other men crave, although I do enjoy them. But my life is committed to preserving the faith of our region. I am a mystic; I can tap into powers that are way beyond anything you can imagine.”

  “Lazar just accused me of behaving obliquely. I think it’s time for you to stop speaking so obliquely as well, Tariq. Tell me what you want from me,” Boaz ordered, and Maliz could hear that he had pushed the young Zar far enough.

  “Do you believe that Lazar and Ana have made a mockery of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have proof, not just my hearsay?”

  “That is my business. Continue with your own.”

  Maliz had to stifle a laugh. He could barely believe how easily the Zar was falling prey to his own insecurities. “If you believe you have been cuckolded, Highness, it is irrelevant who knows. You do. That in itself demands the gravest punishment.”

  “That is my decision, Tariq. You have yet to say anything I don’t already know.”

  “What if I could allow you to see Ana?”

  The silence was long. “How is that possible?” Boaz finally asked.

  “Magic, of course,” Maliz answered mildly. “And what if I could allow you to listen in on Ana, watch her when she sees Lazar again? That way you can know for yourself how they feel about each other before you do anything rash.” He was impressed with himself; he sounded so extraordinarily caring.

  “Lazar and Salim are leaving us tomorrow. We are apparently within one hour’s striking distance of the fortress.”

  This was news to Maliz. “I see. That close, eh? Then we must make a decision this night, my Zar. Time is surely against us.”

  “We can see her tonight?”

  “We can see her immediately, my Zar—it’s up to you to simply say yes.”

  “To what?”

  “To allowing me to enter your life,” Maliz said, feeling himself hold his breath in anticipation.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “For me to show you Ana, to eavesdrop on her conversation…for me to be able to show you Lazar’s attack on the fortress and his rescue of your wife; for me, Zar Boaz, to give you unequivocal proof of her infidelity—which she will surely reveal upon seeing Lazar—I must enter you magically.”

  “Enter me?” Boaz whispered, the anger evident in the way his words came out as a growl, but Maliz heard his confusion, too.

  “It’s painless, Highness. We share a body but momentarily.”

  “Share my body,” Boaz repeated, and Maliz could hear the rising confusion laced with disgust in his voice. “How so?”

  “I have the power to join you, to transport you magically to wherever Ana is,” Maliz lied.

  Again a long silence ensued. The shock emanating from the Zar was palpable. He began to pace. “I can barely believe what I’m hearing and yet I can’t imagine that you are teasing.”

  “Let me assure you I do not jest, Highness.”

  “And can we also find Pez? He was supposed to be here.”

  “Er, yes, I don’t see why not.” Maliz would agree to anything Boaz wanted in return for access to his body. He was already imagining how wonderful it was going to feel to be in charge of that young, fit, healthy physique.

  “How does this occur?”

  “Well, you need to give me permission. Then, with the use of the magic, I can lift your spirit and together we can travel anywhere you wish us to go. You can roam to Percheron and peek at the Galinsean warships, you can look in on your mother, you can eavesdrop on Salmeo, you could even—”

  “And Lazar?”

  “Well, Majesty, if you wish, you can travel alongside him tomorrow. He would be none the wiser, for you would be invisible,” Maliz lied, impressed by how convincing he sounded.

  “And then what?”

  “And then when you’re satisfied, we return to your body. Simple.”

  “My body is safe?”

  “We would hide it.”

  “And what happens when ‘we’ return?”

  “I leave you, Highness.”

  “What’s in this for you, Tariq?”

  “A clear conscience. I cannot imagine you would take my word against Lazar without proof. I wish to give you conclusive proof that he has been alone with your wife against your wishes. You obviously have your own suspicions. My considered counsel is that you don’t take any action without proof.”

  “Always being helpful, Tariq,” Boaz said with condescension, “but I still don’t know who you are or how helping to ease my conscience helps you serve Zarab.”

  And here was where Maliz knew he had to be convincing. “My Zar, I know this is going to come as a shock, but I believe Ana and Lazar to be followers of Lyana.”

  “So? We do not persecute anyone in Percheron for their beliefs, Tariq, you should know that. And I have seen no outward signs that either of them holds any unhealthy interest in the Goddess.”

  “No, my Zar. That’s because I believe they are plotting against you.”

  “What?”

  “Hush, Majesty. We shall be found out.”

  “This is treacherous talk, Tariq. You should consider carefully before you say any more,” Boaz warned, anger and more shock evident in his voice.

  “I already have, Highness, and it grieves me to tell you this but I believe Ana and Lazar would like to return Percheron to a realm that prays to Lyana rather than to Zarab.”

  Boaz frowned. “We do not punish people based on their religious beliefs but I will not tolerate any sort of schism. That would require repercussions from the Crown; Percheron follows Zarab.”

  “But a schism is precisely what they’re aiming to fuel, Highness.”

  “Well, have you confronted either of them about this?”

  “I dare not. Lazar is a man of violence. And we have witnessed what he can endure when he feels Ana is threatened. And speaking of that, where did he ask for his body to be taken when he was so injured? Lyana’s Sea Temple. Who cared for him, nursed him back to health? The priestess Zafira. He is linked to Lyana, whether he cares to admit it or not. I’m told they found Ana in the Sea Temple with the priestess when she ran away from the harem. She could have run anywhere, Highness, and I think we’d both agree that she stood a better chance if she’d melted into the crowds at the bazaar or joined one of the caravans leaving the city. But she chose the lonely temple. She, too, is linked to Lyana through that curious choice.”

  “I shall ask Lazar,” Boaz said angrily.

  “No, wait, Highness,” Maliz said, grabbing the Zar’s arm, apologizing immediately with a small bow for the indiscret
ion. “That is not the way to approach this. If there is a conspiracy afoot, Lazar will have all of his excuses and cunning rationale in place. A direct approach will not work. The only way to discover the truth is to use guile, Highness. We must watch, eavesdrop. We must use the magic I offer.”

  “I can’t believe this, Tariq. It’s one thing to accuse Lazar of coveting a beautiful woman who is not his to look upon. It is another to accuse that same man of treachery when he has been exemplary in his loyalty to our Crown.”

  “They are one and the same, my Zar. Both acts—carnal or spiritual—betray you.”

  Boaz shook his head, but before he could speak, Maliz pushed him further still.

  “Do not risk further humiliation, my Zar. If I am wrong, have me killed. That’s how strongly I feel about this. I have no reason to lie to you. I have powers at my fingertips that I can make yours—just invite me in. All you have to do is—”

  “Maliz!” the Zar finally said as some understanding that the demon could not see must have broken across his expression. “You are the one they call the demon?” he accused uncontrollably.

  And now, finally, Maliz revealed himself fully. He permitted his true, deep voice to emerge. “Do I frighten you?” He heard Boaz’s hesitation. “You have nothing to fear from me. I will not interfere with your Crown, your realm, or your people. I want only that Percheron remain true to Zarab.”

  “I don’t believe this is happening,” Boaz admitted, his voice fearful. “You have been hiding as Tariq all along?”

  Maliz shrugged the Grand Vizier’s shoulders. “Quite a short while, to be honest. Percheron is under threat, my Zar—I am here to help you.”

  “Why couldn’t you declare yourself? Why the secrecy?”

  “People fear what they do not understand. It is easier to work invisibly when you are on a mission such as mine.”

  “Where is the real Tariq?”

  “He died of natural causes, Majesty. I had hoped to persuade him to join me, to be my eyes around the palace. He was ready to help but he wanted power and riches. I could give him anything he wanted and he was greedy. He sampled the fruits and died one night in a lascivious combination of women and wine. He was old, Highness; his body could not take that sort of excitement.”