“I had to do it, Ana.”
“I know. Do you think Maliz is dead, then?”
“Iridor said he cannot be killed by mortal means. Only Lyana can destroy him.”
“And we are no closer to her.”
Lazar kept his own counsel on what Iridor and Ganya believed. This was not the time to share with Ana their suspicions. She was too emotionally fragile and Ana had enough to think about and cope with right now. “Don’t worry about Lyana just now. Think only of our child.”
“Lazar!” she moaned. “Here comes a contraction. I need to stop.”
Obediently Farim halted at his call, and in their desert womb, Lazar laid Ana down and held her hand as she groaned her way through the pain he could not hope to save her from. When it was over, she was left panting, perspiration beading on her face.
“That was a big one. He’s closer. Our boy is nearly ready to enter this cruel world,” she said, then she screamed as Lazar toppled forward on top of her, his skin burning with fever.
Somehow—Ganya would never know how—they had stumbled through the storm. Their camel had walked into dunes and at one point refused to move any farther, so they had taken turns hauling at her, unable to see beyond their noses but moving forward inch by painful inch.
Now night was falling and it was certainly cooler. The Samazen’s might had lessened slightly, she was sure of it, but not enough to feel in any way safe. Despite the fury of the storm, she was grateful for it. Without the Samazen they would have been pursued and killed, and although it would probably kill them itself, it made them invisible and allowed them to die more nobly in the desert.
She wished that they could have stayed with Lazar somehow, and was surprised to find herself envious of Ana. Envy was not an emotion she normally suffered. Even when she had unintentionally glimpsed some of the turmoil within the Spur, had felt the power of the bond between him and the Zaradine, the helpless love that drove him toward her, she had not felt anything other than sorrow on their behalf. But now, having shared his body and felt so close to his problems, she wanted him.
“We have to stop,” she begged Ashar, who had chosen to trudge beside her.
“I think we’re almost there,” he shouted.
“How can you know?”
“Oh, I have a great sense of direction—it’s like magic,” he said, surprising her by chuckling.
“You know, I hardly know you, Ashar.”
“Yes, I really am very different from the boy you remember,” he replied, irritating her already vexed mood further by laughing. “Just a few more minutes.”
“I don’t understand how you can know that. I can’t see anything, can’t recognize anything. We are blind.”
“You, perhaps, but not me,” he said cryptically, urging the camel harder. “No more talking,” he ordered, and she pursed her lips at his abrupt manner, doggedly pressing on in silence, telling herself to be comforted that they were still alive.
The light was fading and Herezah felt like a hapless moth, drawn to the harbor as to a flame. So many Galinsean warships were gathering. The city was silent. Only ghosts walked through the bazaar now. Percheron was empty of the usual smells of spices and cooking; even the fragrance of jasmine and the exotic scents from the palace gardens seemed to have faded.
The ships were not elegant like the Perchereste craft. They seemed crude in structure but they were far more intimidating for that rough dark timber and the brightly painted creatures that were carved proudly at the helm. She saw dragons, winged lions, all manner of mythical beasts. They were close enough now that she could make out the tiny figures of men scampering up and down the masts, pulling down sails, going about the business of preparing for war.
Percheron, by comparison, was frozen in fear. Captain Ghassal had come to her once again for instructions but she had refused to give the go-ahead to engage their enemy.
“But, Crown Valide, perhaps if we strike first before they can amass—”
“No, Captain Ghassal. I will not give the Galinseans the satisfaction of saying we loosed the first burning arrow. I don’t want war. If it is to find us, at least we will not provoke it.”
“Crown Valide, with all due respect,” he had pleaded, “war is here. There is no more waiting. The Spur would demand that we defend ourselves.”
“Defend. Absolutely we defend. Do you know the meaning of the word defend, Captain Ghassal?”
He had stammered, looked toward Bin for help, but the secretary had looked away. “I—”
“Let me define it for you, Captain. Defense is about resisting attack. It is not about attacking. Defense is about protection from attack. And I intend to take the literal meaning of defense and live by that creed. In your book, defense might mean taking a more aggressive position, but, Captain Ghassal, we will lose hundreds of our innocent men in such a move. I feel utterly sure that, as proud as Spur Lazar is, he would see the hopelessness of our situation and he would move toward diplomacy.”
“But, Crown Valide, diplomacy was finished when Queen Angeline died on the barge.”
“You don’t have to remind me of the facts, Captain Ghassal. I am a woman, which I know you’re not used to dealing with. Please be assured that I am not stupid and I can see that the Galinseans want us to fight. They are hoping for any excuse to take out their grief, their anger, and their long-held bitterness about beautiful, naturally endowed Percheron on this city. I will not give them any further excuse. Falza is shrewd—we know this much—and he would be seen as less than a warrior if he launches an attack against a helpless woman, a regent at that.” Herezah had loaded her words with sarcasm. “As long as I appear pathetic and terrified, it buys us a little time.” She had held up her hand when he’d tried to speak. “No, Captain. I am not naive enough to believe it will stay his anger entirely but time is all we can count on. We are no match for their might or fighting prowess, and with all respect to your own talent, I think our inexperienced army needs its Spur if it is going to have any chance of standing up to the bullying Galinseans. And we wait. Those who wanted to have already left the city. Those who wished to stay are now behind the city walls, and indeed most are behind the palace walls.” She had looked at Bin, who had nodded. “I have no issue if you offer your men the option to put down their weapons. This is not a lack of courage. This is sensible.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Crown Valide.”
She had smiled behind her veil. “I had expected you to feel this way. They understand that any resistance will be met with stern repercussions?”
“They understand that to be part of the Protectorate is to be prepared to die for Percheron.”
She nodded. “Then I suggest you call in the priests to say final prayers. No soldier who resists will be spared. I will not think less of you, Captain, if you take your family and head for the foothills.”
“But I would think less of me, Crown Valide. I am Spur Lazar’s chosen deputy. My family has been sent away. They understand it is likely I will not join them or see them again.”
“I applaud your bravery.”
“As I do yours, Crown Valide. We will not resist until the Galinseans strike the first blow, as you wish.”
“Thank you, Captain. Zarab bless you and all your men.”
He had nodded once, bowed, and strode away from her rooms.
“I hope I’m doing the right thing,” she said quietly now as Bin returned to her salon.
“We will know tomorrow morning, Crown Valide. Either way, I am proud to have served you.”
She turned to him. “No one has ever said that to me before.”
“Your courage—although it could be misinterpreted as inaction—is daunting, Crown Valide. If I survive this, I will tell everyone I know of your strength and composure.”
“You’d better not mention the tears and histrionics, the fear and anxiety, then,” she said in a rare show of self-mockery.
“What happens behind closed doors is between us, Crown Valide. All t
hat matters is how you’re perceived beyond them, and your people, Captain Ghassal, all the palace staff, will see only that you carried yourself with stoicism.”
Herezah laid a hand on Bin’s arm. “Thank you.”
“I shall send Elza in, Crown Valide. I know you probably can’t sleep but perhaps she can prepare some tea or see to your needs better than I.”
“No, Bin. Stay with me. This could be our last night of life and I would rather share it with someone than be alone. If you have nothing more pressing to do, I would be honored if you would be that someone. We’ll take tea together on the balcony and admire the stars over Percheron. Let us drink to our city’s beauty.”
“And our enemy’s downfall,” he said. Surprisingly, they both laughed.
31
He heard her cries, roused himself from the stupor, and realized with a fright that he was on top of Ana.
“I’m sorry,” he slurred. “What happened?”
“You collapsed,” she panted. “Are you sick?”
“Yes,” he replied bitterly. “It returns.”
“You were never really well, were you?”
He shook his head. “Ellyana said the drezden sickness would never leave, would strike whenever I was vulnerable or my health low.”
“Can you ride? It’s not much further.”
“How can you tell? We’ve been following this rock face for a while.”
“I learned to read the markings in the rock. Farim can have us there soon if you can stay upright on her.”
“I can.”
“I’ll ride behind you. That way I can see what’s happening to you.”
“Some savior, I am.”
She smiled, breaking his heart. He’d lost Jumo, Boaz, Pez even, if he looked at it a certain way, and he’d lost Salim. He would not lose Ana, not now. He struggled to his feet and clambered aboard the patient camel, turning to help Ana. She struggled up behind him, and without being asked, Farim lumbered to her feet and plodded forward.
After a few minutes he said, “This camel of yours should be given a special reward.”
“An endless supply of grain and dates?”
“Or male camels. Perhaps a crown as well—a queen amongst her own.”
He could feel Ana’s cheek against his back as she laughed softly. “Your sickness goes to your head,” she warned. Then she jerked away from him. “Lazar, this is it!”
“She is slowing, you’re right.”
“Clever Farim,” Ana cooed as the beast lowered herself.
Lazar helped her down. “Where are we? I see no cave.”
“You will. Lazar, your body is burning.”
He managed a nod through the increasing dizziness. “Your voice sounds as though it’s being spoken through a tunnel. I don’t know how long I’ve got.”
“I know I have a while before my next pain. We can make it. What about the camel?”
“Where is the opening to this cave?”
“It’s very narrow. You can’t see it from here.”
“Narrow? Once you leave Farim, so does the protection you offer, I assume. I had hoped she could come into the cave.”
“No, it’s too small. Oh no!” She looked grief-stricken.
“There is nothing we can do. She must take her chances.”
“We can get her head through the opening. She can have that much protection.”
Lazar didn’t want to tell Ana that the camel would likely wander off. “Good idea,” he said, “but hurry, Ana, I’m fading.”
She took his hand and dragged him toward what looked like flat rock.
“Intriguing,” he murmured, despite the fact that he could no longer see terribly well. He was staying upright through grim determination alone.
She must have sensed as much because, without speaking, Ana hurriedly bundled him in through the narrow opening, making sure that Farim’s muzzle was poking through that same opening and well protected from the storm. She kissed the beast in thanks and farewell. Inside it was quiet and he could hear water but he was feeling too weak and disoriented to mention it and soon convinced himself he was imagining it. Almost blindly he followed Ana’s guiding hands.
“We have to make a jump. It sounds worse than it is and there are rock steps to help. Stay calm in the tunnel. It’s narrow but short and there’s safety at its end, I promise.”
In the blinding darkness, he had already lost any sense of where they were and what they were doing. He trusted her completely and followed her directions, soon enough finding himself on a ledge at the other end of the very short tunnel she spoke of.
“Hold on, Lazar,” she begged from behind him. “I don’t have any means of giving us light but—” and as Ana emerged, Lazar was stunned to see the cavernous chamber he had sensed himself in erupt into a soft glow.
“What is this place?” he asked, shivering uncontrollably.
“Arafanz called it a temple of Lyana. Over there are the Crystal Pillars.”
He looked toward the dulled columns he could see in the distance. “What are they?”
She shrugged. “I don’t really know. They communicate with me.”
“What?”
She smiled wanly. “We don’t have much time. I can feel another contraction building. That means they’re getting closer. I must find a spot to have our son. No, wait,” she said, pushing him lightly. “You are sick, weak, feverish. You are no help to our boy right now. Just rest.”
“Here?”
“Actually, I have an idea. Do you think you can move?”
“If I must.”
“Come to the pillars. I’m interested to hear what they say to you.”
“They spoke to you, you said.”
She nodded and there was sadness in the gesture. “They welcomed me as Mother. I didn’t understand at the time. I think I do now. I think you do, too.”
“Ana—”
“It’s all right. Our son is the Goddess. This is what it’s all been about. You and I were always meant to be.”
“To be?”
“Together,” she said, helping him to his unsteady feet. “There was so much Lyana couldn’t control but that’s why mysterious Ellyana worked so hard to save you after the flogging and poisoning, why you and Pez were such close friends. It’s probably why you were helplessly guided toward Percheron in the first place. Lazar, it may even go further back to why you were born, how your early life was shaped. Shara, even…”
He looked at her through glazed eyes, fighting through the fever to understand. “You think Lyana caused her death?”
“Who knows,” she replied softly. “I do believe now that you and I were meant to meet, meant to become lovers, meant to have this child. It’s why Arafanz is part of Lyana’s plan. You see him as the enemy and yet we are all being helplessly driven toward the same goal of returning Lyana to Percheron—of changing the faith of the people back to that of the Goddess. Our son will banish the priests and tear down the temples of Zarab. And through him and his reign, the faith of Lyana will be restored.”
He shook his head to clear it as she gently led him through the cavernous chamber, surprisingly mild in temperature and glowing unnaturally from no light source he could see. The rock face itself seem to have its own illumination.
She read his thoughts. “It has never done this before. But then I have never been here without lamps or at night.” She pointed up. “Over there, Arafanz used to loosen that disk at a certain time of the day when the sun would blaze through the circle in the rock and light the pillars.”
“I can’t get up there,” he groaned.
“I don’t think you’ll have to. I think they will light for us.” They had arrived at the stone steps.
“What happens now?”
“You must go up onto the plinth.”
“I keep thinking about Boaz.”
“He’s dead, Lazar. No amount of—”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” he said, swaying. “Sorry. I’m losing my thoughts as fast as
they arrive. I mean I killed the Zar because I was sure Maliz had possessed him. But if Maliz cannot be killed by a mortal, it means he has found a new host. Presumably our son will have to destroy Maliz. Perhaps Boaz need not have died. I feel—”
“Don’t,” she interrupted. “If what you saw was real and Maliz had taken Boaz, then there was no going back. My understanding, from what Pez had said, is that if he takes a body, he destroys the life that once owned it. If you’re right—and it makes sense that you are—then Boaz was already dead in the desert. You simply killed the body, the shell that was disguising Maliz.” She sighed. “Only Lyana can destroy him. So, yes, it will be our son who kills him. But how can a newborn do that? What if Maliz finds him before he’s old enough to do so. What if we both die here this night?”
Lazar frowned. The fever did not permit him to think clearly. “I…I don’t know what—”
“Go. You look ready to fall over and I must lie down. A contraction is…” Ana’s voice trailed off as she reached behind herself, falling against a boulder, slipping to the ground. Her eyes were wide with pain.
“Ana!”
“Just go!” she urged, almost growling, through her groan of agony.
He staggered back, unsure of everything now. He had never delivered a child, had never been present at a human birth. Suddenly he was overwhelmed by the burden of all they still faced: the safe delivery of the baby, surviving in the cave, returning to Percheron.
He lurched up the short flight of stairs, his mind filled with the repetitive image of splitting open Boaz’s head and allowing Maliz to escape.
Ashar and Ganya had crawled as far back beneath the rock ledge as possible. It offered minimal yet much appreciated protection, their camel providing a little more at the mouth of the opening. They had been cramped in their shared space for hours.
Sand still swirled in to sting their hands but their linens, now hooded over their faces, saved their eyes from harm.
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