Pleasure's Offering

by Moira Sutton

  As he spoke, his fingers slid into Zoa’s slit and she whimpered. Jeric snarled at the sound, but his anger was interrupted by the familiar sound of steel sliding from its sheath. He looked down just in time to see Izar’s hand drawing the sword at Jeric’s hip, and then, moving faster than a mortal really should have been able to, Izar turned and flung Jeric’s sword straight at Toric’s head.

  If Toric had not had the godgiven speed of the Chosen, the short, heavy blade would have landed in his forehead, ending things right there. Even so, Dezira’s Chosen are not warriors, and the dark moon’s amazing speed still wasn’t quite enough. Toric cried out in pain as the sword landed in the chair behind him and slapped a hand to his ear, which was bleeding madly.

  The guards hadn’t been able to do more than gawk when Izar moved, but once their lord was injured, they leapt forward. Before they could tackle Izar, Jeric was there. He grabbed the first man and spun him into a hold, grabbing the guard’s sword from his sheath and tossing it to Izar, who caught the blade neatly. Now that he’d disarmed the soldier, Jeric lifted him and threw him into his fellow guards. The man was not small, and he hit his companions like a sandbag, taking them down with him. Jeric took advantage of the confusion, snatching one of the scrambling men’s blades out of their belts with godtouched speed and coming up in a crouch to guard Izar’s back. The captain pushed himself straight, his face stoic despite the pain Jeric knew he must be feeling, and turned again to face Toric.

  The black moon was hunched over his throne, clutching Zoa with one hand and his split ear with the other, snarling as blood dripped down his shoulder. “You dare, mortal!”

  “I do,” Izar said, his voice the cold, commanding presence Jeric remembered so well from their time on the front. “I dare because I am mortal, and unlike the Chosen, who must put their gods first, there is nothing in this world I care about more than Jeric, Zoa and my Empire. You’ve hurt all three, and I have no problem at all killing you because of it, whatever goddess may claim you.”

  “Then I hope you are ready to die trying,” Toric said, gathering the magic around him like a cloak. “Because that challenge is the last you’ll ever utter.”

  Jeric braced and readied his magic, drawing deep on his desire to keep Izar safe in order to form a barrier strong enough to stop whatever Toric was about to do. But before the dark moon could cast, white light flared brighter than the noon sun on snow. For one moment, everything stopped. Even the lovers on the floor forgot their lust for a moment and stared up at the dais where Zoa’s body was glowing like the moon itself. Everything her light touched became calm. Even Jeric’s anger was washed away by the beauty of the miracle in front of him as Zoa raised herself from Toric’s now frozen body and turned to face them.

  She was no longer naked, but dressed in the pure white robe of Dezira’s white moon priestesses. The cloth shone like it was made of light, but nothing matched the whiteness of the moon on her forehead. Dezira’s white crescent blazed like a torch from Zoa’s skin, lighting her up from the inside until the whole room was bright. And then, suddenly as the light had flared, it died down to a soft, beautiful glow, leaving Zoa radiant and powerful before Toric, who was clutching his throne like the black wood was the only thing keeping him up.

  “This stops now, Toric.”

  Jeric’s breath hitched. Zoa’s voice was still her own, but the power flowing through it was Dezira’s. The Moon’s power washed over the room, soothing the mad lust Toric’s powers had driven and turning it instead into blissful contentment. All around them, the couples sighed happily and lay against each other, their wild passion spent at last. The guards dropped their swords and sank to the floor, happy just to be still.

  The happiness washed over Jeric as well, but his contentment was only partially godgiven. His heart was already full of love and pride as Zoa turned away from Toric and walked down the steps to join them. She reached Izar first and kissed him deeply, her hands feathering over his ribs. His face relaxed as she touched him and he breathed a deep, painless breath. Next, Zoa turned to Jeric and kissed him passionately, pulling Izar close as she did. As her lips touched him, the moon-born desire and Zoa’s own love flowed into him, filling Jeric until he felt he could take on anything.

  “No!”

  Up on the dais, Toric drew himself up. His voice was mad with fury, and like breaking glass, his control cracked. Even Zoa’s light was dimmed as all the anger and mad power Toric had been holding back suddenly rushed forward in a great, black tide, heavy as stone and thrumming like a beating heart.

  Toric held out his arms as the magic consumed him, throwing away caution and control until power was all that remained. The moon throbbed on his forehead, so black Jeric could barely look at it. And then, with a cry of pure rage, Toric jumped forward, the sword Izar had thrown at him held in his hands.

  Jeric and Zoa acted as one, surrounding the three of them in a white barrier bright as the full moon, but Toric’s bloated, gathered power was too much. He cut through the barrier, the black power falling off as it spent itself against the combined might of Jeric and Zoa’s magic. The two forces consumed each other, the magic burning itself out in the process, but it still wasn’t enough. The barrier buckled, then crumpled, and Toric crashed into Izar like a battering ram, his sword slamming straight through the captain’s chest.

  With a twin wail of loss, Zoa and Jeric fell on their lover. Jeric had no more magic left to spend, so he snatched Toric off Izar with his hands, kicking the dark moon into the stairs. Meanwhile, Zoa pressed her hands against Izar’s wound, but Jeric could feel through their bond that she knew it was hopeless. The wound was large and deep, a mortal blow. Already, Izar’s eyes were dimming, his skin glowing as the bond they’d forged into him tried in vain to keep his life alight.

  “Izar,” Zoa whispered, her white light fading as she poured what little power she had left into their lover. “Hold on, beloved. Carena’s Chosen can heal death itself and hold Dezira dear. We’ll bring you to their temple and—”

  She cut off as Izar grabbed her hand. “No,” he whispered, his pale face turning up in a pained half smile. “All my life, all I’ve ever asked of the gods was a good death. Even so, they gave me you.” His eyes sought out Jeric’s. “Both of you, which was more than I could ever deserve. It is my greatest happiness to die with the two of you whole by my side, knowing I did all I could to keep you safe.”

  “No, Izar,” Jeric said, clutching his captain’s hand. “You can’t leave us. We belong together. You can’t leave us alone.”

  “You’re not alone,” Izar said, closing his eyes as he clumsily pressed Jeric’s hand into Zoa’s, which were still pressed against the wound in the captain’s chest. “Not alone,” he breathed again. “And thanks to the both of you, neither was I.”

  His lungs filled one last time, and then Izar lay still. His body went limp under their hands, and somewhere deep in Jeric’s mind, he felt the warm bond they’d forged in the temple that afternoon snuff out like a candle.

  “No,” Zoa whispered, dropping her head to Izar’s still chest. “No, no, no.”

  Jeric said nothing. He wanted to scream, wanted to snatch Izar to his chest and force his own warmth into the captain’s rapidly cooling skin, but he couldn’t force anything past the shadow rising inside him. When she had given him his power, Dezira had said there was a darkness in him, a seed of the dark moon he could be. He’d never understood what she meant until now.

  Rage flooded his body, thick and hot as black tar, forcing him to stand. The warning was throbbing in his mind, telling him not to do this, that the punishment for all of them would be worse than death, a thousand times worse, but the rage washed it away. He grabbed a sword from the floor without looking and turned on Toric.

  The dark moon was still lying on the stairs where Jeric had thrown him. Toric looked up, and he must have seen Jeric’s intention, because his face went grim. Even so, he didn’t try to move. Maybe he couldn’t or maybe he was simply resigned
to his fate. Whatever the reason, his eyes were calm as Jeric raised his sword and grabbed the hilt with both hands, ready to drive the point down like a spear through Toric’s chest. But as his muscles clenched for the blow, golden magic wrapped around him like molten iron, holding him firm.

  “Hold, Chosen of Dezira.”

  Jeric couldn’t turn to see who spoke, but he didn’t need to. Though he’d heard the voice only once before, there was no mistaking the deep command of Solus’ Chosen. The Avatar’s metallic footsteps rang out in the silent hall, and then Marcus’ hands seized Jeric’s, prying the sword from his grip.

  “One Chosen may not kill another,” Marcus said, throwing the sword away. “This is Solus’ law and I will not permit you to bear the Sun’s punishment for this filth.” He looked down at Toric and his face drew into a sneer. “This one’s fate has already been decided.”

  There was a burning delight in the way Marcus said those words, but before Jeric could understand what that foretold, the entire chamber filled with golden sunlight. Suddenly, the air was warm, dry and hot as a desert. The intensity of the change sent Jeric to his knees as Marcus’ magic fell away and he felt Zoa curl over behind him, wrapping her body around Izar’s, but the light was too bright for him to see. It grew brighter and brighter, and as the light increased, so did the heat, expanding and intensifying until Jeric was sure they’d all be cooked. But then, just before it grew too hot to bear, a man Jeric had never seen appeared before Toric.

  To say he was a man would be to call the sea a pond. The figure was man sized and man shaped, but the air itself was alive and shimmering with the power that radiated from his body. He’d appeared from the light, winking into existence like a fire flaring up. Jeric saw no more than that before he bowed his head, but that second was enough to brand the image into his mind of a great, golden warrior, young and strong, clad in golden armor and carrying a sword marked with a blazing sun.

  “Hail, Great Solus,” he whispered, just as Zoa did behind him. “Great Sun, chief among the gods.”

  If Solus heard them, he didn’t acknowledge their words. Instead, he turned and looked at Marcus.

  “Where is the one you spoke of?”

  His voice made the very stone rumble, but Marcus only bowed and pointed at Izar. The god nodded and vanished in a shimmer only to reappear at Izar’s feet. Even knowing he was up against a god and Izar was dead, Jeric still almost couldn’t stop the urge to defend his lover. As though sensing his intention, Marcus’ hand grabbed his shoulder, locking Jeric in place as the god leaned over the captain’s corpse.

  “Move aside, Dezira’s Chosen,” Solus said, his words soft as licking flames. “I mean him no harm.”

  Zoa, who had been clinging to Izar’s body, pulled back reluctantly, the force of her love defying even the god’s command. Even so, she obeyed in the end, sitting back on her heels with her head down as Solus looked Izar over.

  “My brother, Orin Who Watches, told me this soul had already reached his river,” Solus said, his voice thoughtful, as though he were puzzling out a riddle. “Death is not a generous god, but he loves our moonlit sister nearly as much as I do, and even his heart was moved by the story of her Chosen’s great love torn asunder by the recklessness of one who should know better.” His tone grew hard at that and the god straightened. “Izar of the North,” he boomed. “You died today in great service of my Empire and my beloved sister’s Chosen. You fought against my champion at great risk to your own life to free my sacred emperor and your actions helped to free my Avatar from the great sin that had been committed against him. Such acts are worthy in my sight.” The god held out his hand. “Stand up, Izar of the North. Return to this world as my blade, my Chosen warrior, to continue your good work. By my light, I free you from the lands of the dead. Let my breath be your breath, my strength your strength. Return, my warrior, and be reborn by my glory.”

  As he spoke, Solus’ light grew until he was blinding. Unable to look at the god, Jeric focused on Izar. The captain’s body remained still, his tan face pale with death, his blood dark red and cold across his chest. But as Solus’ light reached its highest point, the captain’s body jerked. His arm shot up like a puppet’s pulled by a string, his pale fingers seizing the god’s golden, offered hand. The moment they touched, a wave of fire shot out around the room, and with it, the beautiful sound of a new breath being taken.

  Jeric blinked madly as the light faded, but what he saw as his eyes cleared clouded them again, now with tears of disbelieving joy. Izar stood before the Sun god. His black, bloody clothes were gone. Instead, he was dressed as Marcus in the golden armor of Solus’ Chosen. In his hand, the hand that had taken the god’s, he now held a great, golden sword marked with a sunburst, and his blue eyes were wide with awe as he dropped to his knees before his god.

  “Will you serve?” Solus said.

  “I will serve you and yours, now and always,” Izar said. “My life for your righteous rule.”

  The god’s face broke into an enormous grin and he clapped Izar on the shoulder, drawing him back to his feet. “Welcome to my service, Horace Izar, Chosen of the Sun. Now,” the god’s smile fell as he turned from his Chosen to the man who was still lying on the steps, “on to unfinished business.”

  To his credit, Toric did not cower as the golden god marched across the floor to stand before him. He just lay there, his face calm and defiant, staring up at Solus as haughtily he would anyone else. “Finish it, then,” he said, his voice tired and sullen. “Better to die here than live with defeat.”

  “There, at least, we are in agreement,” the god said. “Toric Vallus, dark moon Chosen of Dezira, for your crimes against my Empire, I take it upon myself to end your life and send you to Orin’s river, never to emerge again.”

  Toric sighed and dropped his head, baring his neck as Solus raised his great sword. But as the god readied the stroke, Zoa caught her breath. A second later, Jeric felt it too, and then the sunlight dimmed as Toric vanished, only to reappear a second later in the arms of a tall, beautiful woman.

  Even under Solus’ light, Dezira’s body was half in shadow, and it was that half she turned toward her brother, her crimson eye narrowed. “He is mine, Solus,” she hissed. “You have no right to take him.”

  The air blistered as the sun god’s anger filled the room. “It was he who had no right!” Solus roared. “He entrapped my Chosen and endangered my Empire! He must die for his crimes!”

  “Your Chosen were proud and your Empire corrupt,” Dezira snapped, clutching Toric to her body. “If your Empire could not withstand the desire of one of my Chosen, perhaps it deserved to be endangered.”

  “Do not start, Dezira,” Solus warned. “Even you know Toric has gone too far this time. Look what he did to your other Chosen.”

  “And for that he will be punished indeed,” Dezira said, her voice so cold and terribly cruel it made Jeric tremble in fear. “But that is my place, Solus, not yours. You shall not kill what is mine.”

  “Very well,” Solus said, slamming his sword down in front of him. “But if you claim his life, then I must claim a separate punishment instead. Crimes must be punished, that is my law.”

  “Speak it, then,” Dezira said.

  Solus shifted his gaze to Toric. “Son of Vallus, my own noble house, I hereby cast you out of my light. You are banished from my Empire and all civilized lands who obey my law. Your goddess claims your life, but from this moment forward, you shall live it in exile from all my gifts, both those of civilization and those of my sun. Never more in light to walk, a dark moon in fact and name. This is my punishment.”

  Toric gave a soft cry then, a gasping sob of loss. Above him, Dezira nodded. “A fair punishment, my brother,” she said. “And one I swear shall be met in kind when it comes time for Toric to answer for his crimes against my Chosen.” As she spoke this last sentence, Dezira’s eyes, both the red glimmer in shadow and the white sliver gaze, fixed on Zoa and Jeric, and Jeric nearly stumbled as the force
of the goddess’s love and sorrow hit him.

  “A just punishment,” Solus rumbled. “It is accepted.”

  Dezira nodded to her brother and then god and goddess vanished, taking their light, and Toric, with them.

  The whole room rocked at their absence and then the mortals began to look around. Some of them tried to cover their nakedness, gazing about as though they were waking from a dream. Even the guards looked stunned, looking about for their master who was no longer there. The only people in the room who didn’t look lost at all were the four Chosen at its center.

  Jeric ran forward, grabbing Zoa and Izar and pulling them to him. It was harder than he’d thought, for Izar was heavier than he had been and stronger on his feet. Even so, it only lasted a second before Izar was hugging them back so hard Jeric thought his own ribs were going to break.

  “Oh gods,” Izar said, kissing them both all over. “I thought I’d lost you both, lost everything.”

  “We all did,” Zoa said. She was sobbing, pressed against both men like she couldn’t get close enough. “It’s a miracle.”

  “You’re the miracle,” Izar said. “Both of you. You brought me back. Solus only caught me because Orin knew of us.” And then, against all odds, Izar blushed. “Apparently our bond is quite interesting to the other gods.”

  Jeric blinked, wondering what sort of figure Orin Who Watches must be to make Izar blush. “Let them be interested,” he said at last, holding his lovers close. “All that matters is we’re all alive and together.”