Goddess

by Fiona McIntosh

  “What’s happening?” she asked, rushing toward the windows.

  “The Galinseans have begun coming ashore.”

  “Yes, I can see,” she said, her insides twisting as she saw the mass of men in the distance moving out of the horde of rowboats that were arriving at the city’s edge. “Captain Ghassal is to offer no resistance. Does he understand my orders?”

  “Yes, Crown Valide, but he is not happy about them. He believes Spur Lazar would be ashamed of the Protectorate.”

  “Spur Lazar is not here to lead our men. Ghassal’s bravery is not in question here, nor that of our soldiers. But we cannot win this, Bin, so it is right that I order that we don’t fight back. Let Falza come and take the city with as little damage to it or its people as possible. It’s the royals he wants and the crushing of the palace hierarchy. Let’s make it as easy as possible. No amount of senseless sacrifice will allow us to scare them off.”

  “I understand your rationale, Crown Valide, but I suspect if the Galinseans start burning the city, Ghassal will act as he sees best.”

  “That is his choice and his death sentence. Elza, it is time for you to leave. I want you to get into plain clothing and go into the courtyards.”

  “I am too scared, Crown Valide.”

  “Listen to me. Whatever they do to you out there, it is safer than what they’ll do if they discover you to be one of the royals’ personal servants. Do not be found here. Now go!”

  Elza’s eyes were full of tears. “But Crown Valide—”

  “Go!” Herezah ordered. “You, too, Bin.”

  “No,” he said softly as Elza fled the chamber. “They will have to cut me down before they reach you.”

  “Zarab curse you! I thought we’d agreed,” she hurled at him.

  “You agreed, Crown Valide. I will make my own decision as to how I conduct myself. This is my choice…you can ganche me later if we all survive.”

  She felt only gratitude. “I shall think of something far more horrible, trust me. Your disobedience is noted.”

  He nodded and bowed. “Let me escort you to the Grand Salon, Your Majesty.”

  She looked at him, startled. “I don’t think—”

  “I do. You are our royalty now, Crown Valide, and we should treat you with the respect you deserve and have lately earned. When they come, we will awe them with the beauty of the palace and its remaining royal.”

  She smiled bravely “Come, then, Bin. Our executioners await.”

  Captain Ghassal had no intention of laying down arms to the Galinseans. No matter what the Crown Valide demanded of him, he was answerable to her son, the Zar, but first and foremost to the Spur. And Spur Lazar would never condone this spineless approach. Only a woman would. These were fighting men, trained for war. He could feel their eagenerness, their sense of invincibility. They were young, their city was being invaded by the hated Galinseans. No, none of them would be handing over their weapons or their lives without a fight. Captain Ghassal would take whatever punishment for disobedience was levied upon him, should he survive this battle. But he doubted very much that he would survive this day, and he refused to allow Spur Lazar to hear that his trusted second-in-command had behaved meekly.

  The Crown Valide’s servant Bin had been told that the Protectorate would submit but the captain had already laid ambushes all over the city. Each of his lieutenants knew that from the moment the Galinseans began destroying the city—and he was sure Falza’s soldiers would do this—the Percherese must act to protect their treasures. “Death to the barbarians,” he muttered under his breath as he watched the first load disembark their rowboats.

  “Death to the barbarians!” he now yelled at the top of his lungs. His men began loosing their shafts in a hail of arrows that rained down from the hillsides of Percheron onto the scrambling soldiers.

  How could a woman possibly understand? Ghassal sneered to himself. How could she know that the Percherese had the advantage? That’s why the city was built this way. No enemy came from the desert. The enemy could only approach by sea and his army had the advantage of height and vision. He would kill every filthy barbarian before he even had a chance to feel Percherese soil beneath his feet.

  “Death to the barbarians!” he screamed again, urging his men to use their highly trained shooting skills from long distance.

  Falza watched from the crag. He and his second-in-command had squeezed into the basket at the top of the main mast and were looking down upon Percheron.

  The King squinted. “So, they’re putting up a fight. I wasn’t sure she would.”

  “Did you really believe she would capitulate, sire?”

  “If you’d seen her stunned face on that barge and the fear that followed, you would believe me when I say this woman had no intention of fighting us. I fully expected her to meet us at the shore in full royal regalia and beg for her life.”

  “The men are getting slaughtered, my king. The enemy has the advantage of height.”

  “Send everyone in at once. At least half should get through. I want the city razed. Burn everything. Kill everyone.”

  “Everyone?” the soldier echoed, clearly unsure he’d heard his liege lord correctly.

  “Everyone, including women and children. If they’d not fought back, I would have spared the Percherese. But the Valide is showing a distinct lack of foresight and care for her people. I’d already given her my terms. If she wants to defend her city, that’s her right. But now I shall destroy it before her eyes, and then destroy her. Tell everyone I want the Crown Valide kept alive but everyone else is to be put to the sword. No life but hers is to be left. I will show her the results of her poor decision making before I personally take her life. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, my lord. It will be done,” his subordinate said, already lowering himself down from the lookout to pass on orders.

  Falza squinted again at the palace and hoped the Crown Valide had keen enough eyesight to watch her famed city crumble.

  They hadn’t departed her chamber when they heard the roar go up. Turning bewildered back to the windows, Herezah and Bin ran onto the balcony. He watched the horror on her face as hundreds of arrows darkened her view, soaring from hidden positions on the hillside as they began their killing path toward the shoreline. Bin held his breath alongside his Crown Valide as dozens of these weapons found their mark. They could hear their enemies’ cries, their voices carrying up and over the olive groves where Percherese soldiers had hidden themselves, over the rocky hill upon which she now stood, and past the beautifully tiered gardens of the Stone Palace that seemed to hang from the steep incline on which they were tended.

  “Zarab save me!” she hissed.

  “Ghassal has disobeyed your orders, Majesty. I was afraid he might.”

  “He said as much. May his god curse him for this. Falza will kill everyone now,” she said, looking wildly at her servant.

  He risked taking her hand. “Majesty, perhaps it is for the best. Percheron may be no match for the barbarians, but let history show that our city fought back with courage. Let us leave behind the knowledge that you did not bow to another king, that you bravely held your ground, on behalf of your Zar, in the face of terrible attack.”

  It was the right thing to say. Bin had never known how to tell the Crown Valide that Ghassal had just stopped short of laughing in his face when he had conveyed Herezah’s orders—it had been clear that the captain had no intention of answering to a “mere whore,” as he had dared call her. Bin had ignored the insult, realizing it was the result of fear, uncertainty, and bravado. In public the soldiers were respectful of the harem women but Bin was aware that such was not the case behind closed doors. And they reserved their greatest disdain for Herezah. Even in her new role she was still that same slave masquerading as a royal. Ghassal had told him he answered only to the Spur or their Zar. And in the absence of both he would make all the decisions for the Protectorate.

  Bin had formulated the ruse of not fully telling the Crown V
alide the truth; it was out of their hands and well beyond their control now anyway. It had seemed best to let her believe her orders were being carried out; what transpired would likely be lost in the panic, especially as Bin did not expect either of them to see another dawn. And in truth he believed Captain Ghassal was doing the right thing. He had tried to reason with the Crown Valide but she had wanted to try to protect every Percherese life at the expense of her own. “Majesty, they are following their own hearts now. They have served the Zar faithfully and they love Percheron. We must allow them to fight for what they believe in.”

  “Well, I do not flatter myself in believing they fight for my life, Bin,” she said, distracted, her voice filled with despair. “I admire them but they are all going to die. Look, already the enemy is winning. See how the Galinseans use their shields as one to protect each other.”

  He could see it. The enemy moved carefully, slowly, shields interlocked to protect one another. With this strategy they would get numbers through and into the markets, where there was instant cover afforded them. The Percherese archers would become useless from the moment the Galinseans broke through and found protection.

  Bin nodded. “Majesty, it’s important to the men that they die bravely. Laying down arms is not courageous, no matter how senseless you believe their deaths to be.”

  She sighed. “Let us continue to the throne room, then. We can watch the carnage from there if we must.”

  Bin bowed as the first wafts of smoke and the burning of Percheron assaulted him. He blinked back tears and wished Spur Lazar were here to guide the men toward their heroic deaths.

  33

  Lazar closed his eyes and rode the tide of Ana’s pain through the screams as she worked to expel their son.

  “Check him,” she begged, exhausted. “He is tearing me in two.”

  Lazar laid her back gently and moved gingerly around her, lifting her robes to expose the heart-hammering sight of the baby’s head. He remembered moments from his childhood during which doctors had rushed out to tell his father of his mother’s progress with her deliveries. So this is what they meant. “His head is crowning,” he murmured.

  “That’s appropriate.” She laughed bitterly through her agony. “I have to push again. He’s going to break me, so expect blood.”

  Break her? “Let’s get him out, Ana. Be brave.”

  “Be ready,” she gasped, “here comes a big one, make sure you catch him,” and then she was lost on another huge shriek as she used all her energy to push her son toward his father.

  “Push, Ana, push,” he called above her groans.

  Lazar watched the delicate skin tear as the baby’s head fully emerged.

  “Twist him slightly,” Ana begged through gasps. “Help turn his shoulders to ease him out.”

  Lazar obeyed. The steaming warmth of the beautiful child and its perfect, soft skin touched his heart, setting off an unexpected wave of emotion. He had thought it was Ana he was worried about and realized now that his heart was also hammering for his son, this tiny bloodied bundle that was twisting gently into his waiting hands.

  “Are his shoulders out?” Ana stammered breathlessly.

  “Just about. One more push, Ana.”

  She found the strength and bore down desperately as the baby turned and then almost shot into his hands, an angry rush of bright red blood following.

  “He’s here, Ana, he’s here.” Lazar wept, unable to control his emotion. “You’ve done it.”

  He held the baby in the air as the pillars chimed their joy and Luc took his first breath, letting it out in a cry of surprise.

  Colors of every hue bounced off the rocky walls and chiming music rang out, echoing around the chamber, as Lyana’s pillars welcomed their precious child into the world.

  Lazar lay the baby onto its mother’s breast and wept with her.

  “The pillars asked me to call him Luc,” he whispered into her ear beneath the cacophony of light and joy.

  “Then Luc he shall be,” she mouthed back. He noticed that she looked wan and exhausted.

  “What now?”

  “You must cut him free of me. Over by that rock ledge where we came in is a small sack. Look for it. Arafanz left it there—it has a blade amongst other practical things, I think.”

  “But what—”

  “Just get the sack. We must cut him free.”

  Lazar did as she asked, returning with what was little more than a large pouch. Inside he found the blade, as well as a needle, thread, a bandage, and some salve.

  “Cut him close. Here,” she pointed. “Then tie it off with the thread. Soon I will expel the afterbirth.”

  Lazar was bewildered by her knowledge. “How do you know all of this?”

  The pillars had quietened, were now just throbbing their color and softly chiming, as though listening to them.

  “I’ve watched many a goat give birth in my time,” she murmured, almost dreamily. “And Arafanz explained what would need to be done.”

  “He intended to help you deliver, didn’t he?” Lazar couldn’t help the tone of jealousy as he took out the blade that was wrapped in a cloth.

  “Arafanz intended to help me deliver, yes, but he also planned to steal my son immediately and take him to Percheron. Use the cloth to wipe the blade with what you find in that vial so that the knife is clean before you cut the cord.”

  Lazar looked at her, suddenly awkward. “I have been given the same instructions by the pillars.”

  “They asked you to take my child from me?”

  “Not from you. They want our son moved to Percheron straightaway, though. They feel he alone can prevent the war.”

  “I don’t see how,” she moaned softly. “I feel so weak,” she added.

  Lazar only now noticed the steady trickle of blood from between her legs. “Let’s get the baby separated. I think you can begin healing once you’re free of each other.”

  “You’ll need to sew me down there, Lazar. I know I’m broken.”

  “We’ll worry about that soon. Here, I’ve cleaned the blade.”

  “Then just follow my instructions. I need to close my eyes for a while.” She made an involuntary sound of pleasure. “He suckles. And he’s so quiet.”

  “He is the most beautiful thing ever created. He is his mother all over again.”

  She closed her eyes as she smiled at Lazar’s comment. He hated to disturb the peaceful scene and took another moment or two to etch this picture of Ana and Luc in his mind, both breathing softly, their eyes closed, their oneness intoxicating before he made the cut.

  He was alarmed by the amount of blood and watched carefully, waiting for it to be staunched.

  “Lazar, don’t pull, but keep the cord taut,” Ana said softly. “My womb is pulling tight again. It’s getting ready for me to help push out the afterbirth.”

  He nodded, feeling frightened. “All right. Like this?”

  “Yes.”

  As the placenta came free, suddenly mother and baby were rid of the life-giving bond that had joined them and sustained each other during the pregnancy.

  “Do I bury this?”

  “No. Leave it. The pillars want it.”

  Lazar felt a wave of revulsion. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. A part of Lyana’s incarnation, perhaps,” she said wearily.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing. Perhaps some water if you’re strong enough now to crawl back through the tunnel. There is a fresh spring at the back of the original cave and a bowl nearby that Arafanz used. Look for it. Come carefully with it, for I have a terrible thirst.”

  “I’ll be back quickly.”

  “Lazar, wait!”

  “What, my love?”

  “Will you kiss me once more?”

  “There will be plenty of time for that when—”

  “Please,” she begged.

  And he did, kneeling low to touch his lips gently to hers, a hand helplessly reaching toward the softly moaning
Luc as he slept at his mother’s breast.

  “I love you,” she whispered. “Never forget that, will you?”

  He frowned at her sadly. She must be very tired if she was getting so sentimental. He kissed her again, and then, glad to be useful, he bounded away.

  Ellyana had been watching and felt intense relief when she heard the boy’s first cry. He was strong. He could survive, and Lazar would, if he unlocked his own secrets, get the child back to Percheron, fulfilling both father’s and son’s roles.

  But Ana’s role was over now. She moved swiftly, gracefully across to the plinth, where the pillar murmured a soft welcome.

  Ana heard their chimes and her eyes opened. She was not surprised, it seemed, to see the crone.

  “Ellyana. It was your presence I felt.”

  “Yes, dear one. I did not wish to interrupt.”

  “He is safe.”

  “Do you mean your son or the man you love?”

  Ana smiled sadly. “I think they are now one in my mind.”

  “The boy is robust.”

  “You’re taking him away from me, aren’t you?”

  “Lazar must.”

  “Please, I—”

  “Ana, beloved one. It is your time.”

  Ana stared at her for several long moments before a tear escaped, rolling down the side of her cheek to splash on the rock on which she lay. The rock seemed to absorb the moisture, thanking her with a soft chime through the pillars.

  “Must I?”

  Ellyana nodded sorrowfully. “I’m afraid so. You are losing a lot of blood. Lazar has noticed.”

  “But he doesn’t understand.”

  “No. But I don’t think we should make this any more traumatic than it already must be. Time is short. I have come to collect you. We need what you have.”

  “I didn’t want to believe it.”

  “Believe it,” Ellyana replied. “The pillars do not lie to you.”

  “Can I not say good-bye?” she begged.

  “You already did. To prolong it would simply be cruel. He will never understand and he still has a long journey and some challenges ahead of him before we can be sure he has fulfilled his role. Best we just do this now. All you have to do is take my hand.”