Giahem's Talons

by Katharine Wibell

  Alcove tried to form words, but only gurgling sounds were heard.

  “If your intent was to leave and return home, you would meet with your ruler. He would be told about us and what happened here. Other armies would be sent. Other wars would begin.”

  Speaking almost to herself, Lluava admitted, “I cannot let that happen. It would be better if your emperor believed that the mission failed, that this land was never found, that all were lost. It would be better for him not to know.”

  The full weight of Alcove’s body caused Lluava to sink to her knees. As a trickle of blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth, she laid him on the rooftop and closed his eyes for the final time.

  Some might have seen the ambassador’s brutal end, but many did not. Below her, the war was still being fought. Carefully easing her aching body down the slanted roof, she picked up the discarded horn. It was surprisingly light.

  Ascending to the peak of the roof, Lluava inhaled deeply and blew into the instrument. The resounding noise sent a shiver down her spine, and her body seemed to vibrate. Throughout Cronus, everyone paused and looked toward the sound. In one final act of showmanship, Lluava blew the horn again and followed it with a mighty roar.

  ***

  In the following hours, the tide turned. Raiders were corralled like cattle, their weapons and armor stripped, drugs confiscated. Many faces, both enemy and friend, looked to Lluava for some indication of what would happen next.

  A passage was cleared so that enemy survivors could be escorted to the temple grounds. Lluava stood deep in thought as she watched the prisoners pass by. Sensing a presence beside her, she looked up.

  “I will ask how in the future,” she said with a hint of a smile.

  “I will answer that Ullr is mighty indeed,” Apex responded.

  Ammit approached and stepped in front of them. The Outlander had been overseeing the capture of the enemy. “That is all of them,” he confirmed.

  Apex leaned toward Lluava’s ear and asked, “What now, Goddess of War?”

  Lluava’s steely control of her emotions was mirrored in her voice. “The Raiders must die. Every. Last. One.”

  Chapter 41

  Hail and Farewell

  The order was followed quickly. No one questioned the goddess incarnate. Through it all, Apex never once looked at Lluava disapprovingly. He understood. He always understood. She valued that greatly.

  Upon the bloody completion, the pair picked their way through the barricades, which were being disassembled. Yena greeted them on their return to the castle. She had bathed and dressed in flowing, silvery-sheer garments.

  “You survived.” Lluava stated the obvious.

  “The gods are not finished with us yet.” Casting her glance through the open doorway, Yena noted, “You killed them all.”

  “You knew I would.”

  “You are Incarn of the Goddess of War, the Daughter of Death. It was preordained. Come,” she said, gesturing, “you must have your wounds tended. There is ample Idun in your chamber for both you and the king. He awaits you there.”

  Yena’s choice of words was surprising. Had the high priestess acknowledged Varren’s right to his throne? Did she intend to return to Leucrocotta after all?

  Entering her rooms, Lluava heard Holly talking to Varren, who was lying down on the couch. “He is still missing.”

  The pair looked at Lluava, who walked straight to the vials of Idun set out on the table. “You may continue,” she said, then gulped the putrid liquid. Instantly yearning to vomit, Lluava collapsed into one of the wing chairs. “I do not know which I hate more, the smell or the taste.”

  When no one spoke, Holly gave Lluava a slight nod and stepped away from the king. Although the Shadow did not leave the room, she allowed Varren and Lluava their privacy.

  Still nauseated, Lluava turned to the injured man. “How’re your arms?”

  Varren looked down at his bandaged limbs and his pristine white clothes. “The bite will mend. My other arm…well, it seems I should not attempt to fight with swords again.”

  “You were never that good anyway,” Lluava teased. Her humor had returned, as had her disgust at the aftertaste of the Idun.

  “That is why I have you.” Varren offered a slight smile before furrowing his brow. “I heard what happened. I know what you ordered.” Lluava glanced at Holly as Varren continued, “You did not have to do that. We could have taught them, changed them, converted them. Allowed them the opportunity to become Elysian subjects.”

  “No, Varren. You could have. I could not.”

  There was a prolonged silence before Varren spoke again. “Everyone has a weakness, Lluava. If compassion is mine, I am glad of it. But as a ruler, weaknesses are ill advised. This is why I want you to stand by me as my advisor. I wish to reinstate all titles that have been stripped from you. I need someone near me whom I can trust. Someone who will be brutally honest. Someone who is not afraid to see things from a different perspective.”

  Lluava felt her mouth gape. She quickly closed it.

  Varren finished by saying, “I do not always agree with your choices, but I respect your reasons for making them.”

  As much as she desired to say yes, she said, “Let me think upon this. With everything considered…”

  “Take all the time you need.” Varren adjusted his position on the couch before continuing. “The high priestess spoke with me earlier. She is renouncing all claim to Elysia and will return to Leucrocotta. She desires to open the borders so that the Theriomorph communities can work jointly with our kingdom. In turn, I am reinstating the Temple of Giahem. It will no longer serve as the church. Moreover, other temples will be erected throughout the kingdom in accordance with your people’s beliefs.”

  “This all just happened…?” If this was true, then Yena had foreseen the outcome of the war and had known that victory was at hand.

  Varren allowed Lluava time to consider this information before adding, “The high priestess is even allowing Ammit to remain at the capital to help with the unification of our peoples. He will be installed on the new council, where a seat will be held for you if ever you are ready.”

  “What about Themis? What happened to him?”

  “He was not allowed to travel with me to Cronus, in case I failed. There had to be someone who could step up as leader if I were slain.”

  “Will he return?”

  “He will,” acknowledged Varren. “But his time on the council is over. A new era is beginning. I need councilors who are open to new ways. We must change—all of us—and move forward.”

  “Wow. Is he in for a surprise.” Lluava wondered how Themis would react when he realized he no longer wielded power. It was a rather pleasant thought.

  “He will be summoned from Erebos, where he has been in hiding, and informed upon his return.” Varren was far too logical to act petty in this situation. Lluava, on the other hand, could be as petty as she desired.

  “Can I be the one to tell him?”

  “I think it would be best if I did the explaining.”

  “Fine,” Lluava grumped. She was already feeling better, though she was not sure if it was from the Idun or all the news. Regardless, she would fully heal over the next few days.

  ***

  Orders were given to gather all the dead, and a huge ceremonial funeral was planned. On the muddy battlefield, large pyres were erected from some of the debris removed from Cronus. Holly found Regin’s trampled body. He had died near the gates of the capital. Lluava was suspicious that Ivar Níᵭingr had killed him, though nobody could be sure. Vidrick had also died during the final fight. Lluava looked upon the redheaded lieutenant one final time before Aquila lit the pyres with Giahem’s Talons. The resulting blaze quickly consumed everything in the span of an hour. Lluava hoped that Vidrick would find peace with Illia, his love.

  ***

  Changes came rapidly now. Themis was summoned from Erebos, along with one other at Lluava’s specific request. Holly was inst
alled as head of the Obsidian Guard, with Jigo as her second. Ojewa, now a general, left Cronus along with Colonel Skipe and Admiral Merrow, to rebuild the southern camps. Maruny had vanished from the city, as had Luka. Lluava discovered that Domar’s son, Daniel, had survived the Fall and had been fighting with a group of rebels. Returning to the capital, he assumed his father’s position as weapons instructor for the new castle guards. She was curious about how the mute would teach, but one thing was certain, Daniel was an expert with the sword. Most importantly for Lluava, her nightmares ceased.

  A few days later, on a lazy spring morning, the entire capital was thrown into an uproar. An approaching army had been spotted. Yena was summoned to the Grand Hall from the temple, where she had been training the new priestesses.

  Varren sat on the main throne. Lluava, unsure of the protocol, took Themis’s former chair. Yena strode into the hall past everyone to stand before the king.

  Without hesitation, Varren asked, “High Priestess, why are armed Theriomorphs marching upon us?”

  Yena’s angular features added to her stern, imposing appearance. Unexpectedly, she burst into peals of high-pitched, staccato laughter. “Because I summoned them.”

  “Why?”

  Those watching waited impatiently for the priestess’s response. What was her purpose for calling this army? Did she wish another war? Hadn’t enough people perished already?

  “At the time, we were still under attack,” Yena spoke in her throaty way. “You will remember that I had tunnels built, exit routes for messengers. Using those means, I contacted the rest of my forces to assist us. I was not certain whether they would arrive on time, but at the very least, they could have eradicated the enemy—that is, had we not done so already.”

  “What plans do you have for them now?”

  Yena raised her gaze to the ceiling, then lowered her eyes to the young ruler. “They can be the forerunners of our new borderless community. Humans and Theriomorphs, Elysians and us, your so-called Outlanders—we have no war among ourselves. Not anymore.”

  Varren thought for a moment. “Then, all will be welcomed once their weapons are collected.”

  “As a sign of peace,” Yena smiled, “we will present those weapons as a gift to you, Your Majesty.”

  The high priestess kept her word. Varren opened the gates and greeted many of the arrivals personally. The armory was more fully stocked than it had ever been.

  Along with this change came another. The clans returned to their traditional territories within the kingdom. When the Cloven-Hoofed Clan was ready to depart, Rosalyn, Byron and Derrick gathered to say farewell. Varren chose to stay in the castle, a choice of which Lluava disapproved.

  “This is senseless. You should say goodbye to your friend.”

  Varren shrugged. “If Yamir wished to see me, he could have done so during these past few weeks. His anger has not dissipated, and I do not wish to taint anyone else’s farewells.”

  Hating to agree with him, Lluava chewed on her lip. Varren looked at her bemusedly. “After you see Yamir off, come find me in the gardens. I would like to talk to you. And, if you can, wish that rascal well for me.”

  Lluava headed to a field outside the city. Horses were being harnessed to new wagons and lined up. At least, the clans had accepted Varren’s gift, though the wagons’ gold-and-green covers had been stripped and burned.

  Yamir stood proudly as he watched the clan assemble. With spiked hair, piercings, and now several tattoos, he had fully accepted his new position. And it suited him perfectly. He was speaking to Rosalyn, who was just beginning to appear in public after Talos’s funeral. Her scarred skin was a visible reminder of the husband she had lost. She had chosen not to hide her injury, so that none around her would forget the war with the Raiders.

  Yamir looked at her swelling belly. “You know, if you chose to name the baby Yamir, I would not be upset.”

  Rosalyn cracked a weary smile. “If it be a boy, I will follow Talos’s request and name the child Argon, after the man who helped train all of you. Yamir might be considered for a middle name.”

  That seemed to please their spiky-haired friend. He grinned wolfishly, although not as wolfishly as Derrick, who stood nearby. Derrick looked at the clansman. “Once again, my men and I are ever grateful for your aid, Yamir.”

  “You are always welcome to stay with our clan,” Yamir stated. The two men gave one another a firm handshake.

  “We will miss you, my friend,” Byron added. He placed his hand on Rosalyn’s shoulder. He had taken care of the young woman since Talos’s death, and Lluava suspected that he would continue to stay by her side in the times to come. Actually, somehow, she knew.

  “As will I,” said the clansman.

  With a quick wave of his hand, Yamir smiled at Lluava.

  She responded with a strong hug. “I’m going to miss you. Are you sure you cannot stay?”

  He gestured to the rest of his clan. “We refuse to follow a king. The clans’ ideals have never changed. The kingdom should be run by the people, not by a crown.”

  “Will you go to Leucrocotta or one of the other Theriomorph cities?”

  “No. This is our home. We will live in Elysia, but not anywhere near the capital. The government is poisoned.”

  Lluava tried one last time. “But Varren—”

  Standing eye to eye, Yamir’s oval eyes met Lluava’s green ones. They flashed with a fierce passion. “I will never bow to Varren or to any of his lineage.”

  A small boy approached meekly. “Father, your horse is ready,” he said, and scurried off.

  Yamir smiled after the child, then turned to gaze upon Lluava one last time. “You will always be a friend of ours, Theri. You will always be a friend to me.” With that, Yamir turned, mounted his horse, and rode away, leading the Cloven-Hoofed Clan home.

  ***

  The wagon train had disappeared from sight some time ago. When Lluava finally turned around to head toward the castle, she saw that Aquila stood watching her. Had he come to observe Yamir’s departure? They had seemed to approve of each other.

  “And will you, too, be returning home?” She wondered how many people were dispersing now that the war was over.

  “Yes.” Aquila’s hazel eyes looked keenly about. “I want to show my people the Talons now that the bow and arrows are united. These arrows were stolen from my father’s house long ago.”

  “You have houses? I thought you were nomads.”

  “We are. Father says he used to have a grand house, long ago, from which he ruled. It was destroyed by Mandrun’s people.”

  As they walked back toward the castle, Lluava’s mind reeled as an intangible idea took form. “Where did he live?”

  “Your people were not the only ones who called this land home before Mandrun’s ancestors arrived.”

  Lluava’s head began to hurt. “But that was centuries ago! Your father couldn’t possibly have lived here before Elysia was formed. He would have had to be as ancient as—”

  She froze in mid step as everything fell into place. She scrutinized Aquila’s features while he curiously stared back at her.

  “Are you well, she-beast?”

  Lluava blinked. Could it be true? Right here, standing before her, and she had been blind to it the entire time? Aquila’s father was a Theriomorph. That’s why the nomad had traces of Theriomorph about him, in his blood. It was the telltale sign of an interracial offspring. More importantly, his father had to be Giahem’s Incarn. That’s why Aquila could control the Talons and wield the Wings! The blood of an Incarn ran through his veins.

  “Aquila,” Lluava began once she found her voice. “Take me to your father. We have much to discuss.”

  Chapter 42

  Odyssey

  My father hates Theriomorphs,” stated Aquila firmly.

  “I’m sure that’s not exactly true,” Lluava countered.

  “He will kill you.”

  “Maybe…” Lluava implored the nomad again, “You
will take me to him. Won’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How much time do I have to prepare?” Lluava asked.

  “I can give you three days.”

  Lluava returned to her quarters to consider what must be accomplished before she left. As she was busy choosing some items and discarding others, there was a knock at her door. Moving to open it, she saw that Onyx’s perch was empty. The bird must have found a way out again.

  Yena entered with a scroll in hand and Apex at her heels with a listless expression on his face. Recently, the high priestess had come by a few times to share a religious reading with the other Incarn. Sometimes they were interesting, other times not, but Lluava had always been agreeable. Not today.

  “Can we do this another time?”

  Yena smiled and pleasantly inquired, “You are leaving?”

  The disarray in the room was answer enough. “I am going to meet Giahem’s Incarn.”

  “You know where he is!” Apex exclaimed eagerly.

  Surprisingly, it was Yena who answered, “Haven’t you figured it out? Aquila is Giahem’s son.”

  “That can’t be…” Although Apex was shocked at this revelation, Lluava was stunned. “You knew this whole time?”

  “I was suspicious,” Yena admitted. “You just confirmed it.”

  “How?” Apex asked, clearly unhappy about being the last to know.

  “Only a god can wield a god’s weapon,” Yena explained. “We are Incarn. Each of us has been created from the blood of our respective god. That is why we can use their weapons. Aquila is not an Incarn, but the blood of Giahem is in him; he is a son of the Creator.”

  “But Aquila is human.”

  “Half human,” Lluava corrected. In fact, not every child born of both races was able to shift. Some could pass as full-blooded humans, with only their lineage to reveal the truth.